


Knock On Effect

by dogmatix, norcumi



Series: Balance [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: AU of an AU of an AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M, Multi, Other, Yoda being awesome, dimension hopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Qui-Gon Jinn survives his padawan on Naboo, his path only seems to lead to further and further into darkness.  Now, an unexpected light may show him the way out he's been searching for, but will it work?  And if he fails, will the Republic fall with him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Möbius](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514531) by [dogmatix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix). 



> This is at least 25% [Flamethrower's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower) fault. Many thanks to her, for she inspired this, was willing to comma and fragment wrangle, AND was willing to lend out Venge, as found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1172453). For those who have not read Flamethrower's fic, but would like some cliffnotes on Venge and don't mind huge, HUGE spoilers, then please see the notes at the end of the fic.
> 
> Having recently read her stuff, when [this image](http://norcumi.tumblr.com/post/86584922804/deadcatwithaflamethrower-dogmatix) showed up on Tumblr, it... might've set off a bit of a plunnie.

Dooku feared him. It was mostly in an abstract, condescending way – the attitude of one who was always the master to an apprentice. Turning to the Dark side had made Dooku even more aloof and certain of his superiority.

Qui-Gon was certain that at least part of it was due to the fact that he was still not fully devoted to the Dark side. He'd committed many little sins over the years in Dooku's eyes, but lingering in the gray border between the Light and Dark, without ever really dedicating himself to either side-

He was considered weak for his refusal to choose. He was considered dangerous for his willingness to learn. He hovered above an abyss Dooku was comfortably within, and his eventual fall might very well come with enough force to shake his former master's place.

So Dooku played power games, and threatened him in snide little ways, and Qui-Gon... waited.

For what, he wasn’t sure. In many ways, he felt as if he was going to be waiting forever, for something that he _knew_ would never come.

His current circumstances weren't helping, obviously. Dooku was off doing little lackey things for the real Sith Master Qui-Gon wasn't supposed to know about, and he'd left his former padawan to guard an obnoxious little hold on the far side of the galaxy. 

From hordes of rampaging nerfs, or something.

For the third day in a row he'd completed his blade meditations, patrolled the hallways of the small, moldering keep, and found himself utterly at loose ends.

Boredom, he was familiar with. Boredom, he could deal with. His problem was not boredom. It was the quiet little whispers through the Force, hints of portents never understood, muddied by the Dark or perhaps highlighted, he was never quite sure. 

He was starting to wonder if he was quite mad. Perhaps lingering on the cusp between Light and Dark pulled one too far in opposite directions, the winds of madness buffeting one until finally it would only take one last, little push to-

The Force rippled, then _screamed_ around him. He dropped to his knees, almost blown down by the psychic explosion. After a breathless moment of eternity, the sensation of howling Darkness quieted, leaving... _something_ behind. It was difficult to judge distance, but Qui-Gon thought it might be within the keep itself, though at the point furthest from where he now knelt.

It was a ball of Darkness like he had never felt before. It radiated, _throbbed_ through Dooku's hold, vibrant with rage even through the Darkness that Qui-Gon had grown accustomed to.

If this was not Dooku's master, then this surely would be another of his Tests. With a feral grin, Qui-Gon unhooked his lightsaber and ran.

* * *

Well, this was a fucking hell-hole. Venge rolled his shoulders and glared around. Wherever he was, it was dank, dark, and seething with the Dark side. He'd just dropped into a Sith lair. While it didn't have the rank power behind it like Sidious', he was not anxious to stick around any longer than he had to.

The attack almost came without warning, only the faintest whisper in the Force prompting him to whirl about, lightsaber raised as a Sith-red blade crashed into his. It was a fast, sloppy block at an awkward angle. Instead of merely staggering, Venge went over backwards, barely managing to turn it into a tuck and flip that had him bouncing to his feet across the room.

His opponent was fast, and skilled. The Sith was already lunging at him, pressing the attack, and a part of Venge was glad. To be able to just fight, with clear battle lines and an obvious opponent – this was far better than the last reality, and it wasn't even raining.

They fought back and forth across the large room with its stone walls and old hanging banners, evenly matched with blades. The Sith was in black – _how original_ – with long, draggled steel-gray hair. His opponent didn't seem hampered by it as he ducked and dodged, making spectacular use of the fourth form.

A niggling thought at the back of Venge's brain crystalized into sick, unwilling realization as the Sith avoided a blow that Venge would have sworn the old man couldn't predict. He watched the Sith extend the move into a graceful sprint along the wall, kicking away from it to slam into Venge, who went flying one way as his lightsaber went another.

Venge was left dazed and breathless, but not by the blow. He spun to his feet in a defensive posture, staring at the Sith in front of him. The acrobatics on the wall had cleared the man’s hair away, leaving a gaunt face shadowed by an equally gray beard. His eyes were red-rimmed sulfur yellow and his blade was red, but this was unmistakably Qui-Gon Jinn.

_No!_ The automatic denial roared up from deep inside, raging through his mind. Venge dropped his shielding as this Sith version of his mate swung, clearly moving to take a leg or two in one swift blow. The Sith staggered under the sudden wave of Dark rage, scoring the floor as Venge darted away. He'd almost reached the far side of the room where his lightsaber lay, before Qui-Gon was there, shouldering him into yet another wall. 

_I’m getting REALLY sick of this_. Venge Force shoved the man away, only to find when he turned that Qui-Gon had used the Force to pull Venge's lightsaber to him. 

"Missing something?" Qui-Gon asked in a raspy voice without much humor, holding up the appropriated hilt.

The Fire in his blood howled at the soft question. This was not his Qui-Gon – this _Sith_ , this _fake_. It was wrong, horrifically wrong, and clearly this poor imitation could feel the emotional turmoil. 

Then the Sith tilted his head, lifting a brow in a way so familiar that the Fire's fury was matched by an almost shattering homesickness. "Will you tell me of your master, or do I have to get it out of you one bit of limb at a time? We can do this as long as you'd like."

"My master? Who the fuck do you think that _is_?" In all his time, across several realities, he hadn't run across anything quite _this_ surreal. 

Nor so quietly, strangely terrifying.

The fake Qui-Gon shifted his stance in a way that would allow him to lunge at Venge no matter which direction he moved in. "Whoever holds Dooku's leash."

Venge snorted. "Guess again."

It was only his long familiarity with Qui-Gon – the _real_ one – that let him escape without losing anything more than some hair. He spun away, avoiding the brutal overhead blow that followed. 

"No! He sent you! I know it!" The blows became faster, more erratic. "Give me a name, Sith! Tell me who I'm going to kill next!"

_Great, he’s insane_. "For the last damn time, you have no quarrel with me!"

Venge misjudged and took a sudden elbow to the ribs. He flew across the room with a Force assisted push.

"No quarrel?" Qui-Gon snarled, eyes blazing yellow. " _No quarrel_?! Your master seeks the destruction of the Republic!" A loose bit of stonework ripped free of its mortar and flew towards Venge’s head. He dodged, only to have to deflect another. "Your master seeks to drown the galaxy in Darkness!" Most of the side wall catapulted towards him. "Your master killed my padawan!" 

Darkness billowed throughout the chamber, swirling around the two Sith like a half-maddened beast. Venge snarled right back, narrowing his eyes as the Dark side of the Living Force flowed from Qui-Gon, snapping and slashing at him.

Venge lifted a hand and rushed the older man, using the Force to grab and slam Qui-Gon against the far wall. He charged the rest of the way with Force-enhanced speed, stopping only when he had Qui-Gon pinned bodily against the stone. "That happens. People die. What makes you the center of the universe?" The Fire raged in his blood, screaming for this imposter to shut up, to stop _whining_ , demanding _his_ Qui, _his_ mate.

The yellow-eyed Qui-Gon slumped down, body limp in defeat. _He was the center of mine_ , the Force whispered to him, across a bond that did not exist.

The desolation, the exhaustion of living for revenge he almost didn't think would come, the _pain_ of loss and isolation and ever-present darkness – it was all written across his face and humming through the Force. Venge hesitated, beating back the Fire as he glimpsed the subdued gleam of Light hidden in the core of the man before him.

Qui-Gon looked up, and his expression changed from defeat to chalk-white shock.

* * *

It was impossible. Perhaps Qui-Gon really had gone mad. It was only this close, seeing the strange Sith's face, that he could tell. The changeable eyes had gone as yellow as his own, though they lacked the blood-red outer ring. The face had matured into strong, bold lines. The hair had gone from short-cropped red to a copper-tinged blond that brushed his jaw.

"Obi-Wan?" he breathed, wondering just what in Chaos was going on, just what strange hell this was. Was this some sort of test, a Dark illusion to torment him? Was this truth, phantasm, or something worse?

The Sith pulled back, snarling a little before stalking away. "Venge."

Qui-Gon slumped against the wall for a moment. Drawing on the Force to give him strength, he pushed himself upright. "Strange name." He pulled his shoulders back, glaring at this Sith – _Obi-wan? It cannot be he would not I SAW HIM DIE I felt him pass on what IS this?_

This "Venge" snorted and kept moving, prowling around Qui-Gon. He was used to this sort of power game, but rather than cede the high ground, Qui-Gon paced 'round the room as well, the two keeping a steady distance between them.

"And what do they call you? Darth…?"

Qui-Gon snorted right back. "Wraith," he admitted with a slight eye roll, never taking his eyes off this stranger. "My former master has a flair for the dramatic."

Not-Obi-Wan smirked back, a dark and feral expression that looked strangely at home on his padawan's older face. "Melodramatic, more like. Would 'Wight' not be more appropriate, if he was insisting on undead?"

Qui-Gon tilted his head in a silent question, not sure he was catching the joke. A pun of some kind?

"Darth Wight. It fits you. Neither dark nor light." There was a spark of mischief in those yellow eyes, and the glimpse of Obi-Wan under the Sith jarred the humor out of Qui-Gon.

"Obi-"

" _Venge_ ," he snarled, darting a lightning pace forward, lightsaber - when had he retrieved _that_? - in hand but unlit. "Do not mistake me for someone from your past." They locked eyes. “Or from your reality. I am but a weary traveler, looking for a less hellish place to rest on my way home."

No. There was no mistaking that temper, even as Qui-Gon felt the Dark side pulse and ripple around them, obedient to this Sith Lord. "Then who were you, Darth Venge?" 

Ah, a flinch. Interesting. Qui-Gon sidestepped, twisting his path back around the way it had come, and he was intrigued by how this man matched his pace. "Once upon a time in your reality?"

"Reading me bedtime stories, _Master_?" The barb was well played, eliciting an answering flinch from Qui-Gon. "Why does it matter?"

Qui-Gon could not keep his hands from clenching into fists. "Why something happens matters a great deal. Without a reason, there is only Chaos."

They stopped at the same moment. "And how did you fall, Qui-Gon Jinn? What led you back to your master, and the Dark side?"

Hearing himself damned in that voice, a deeper purr than his padawan could have ever managed, struck deep. "You died. On Naboo, at the hands of a Zabrak." He took a deep breath, letting the cold comfort of rage and fury coil through his bones.

He lifted his chin, letting his padawan clearly see the glowing yellow of his eyes. "I was caught behind an energy shield, and I could not stop his fatal blow. When I reached out to the Force, it was the Dark side that tore him limb from limb. 'An apprentice for an apprentice,' he mocked me as he bled out. I made him suffer… and I would do it again. If it could bring Obi-Wan back, I would do it a thousand times over."

Through the Dark emotions holding him still and straight, he could see Venge go eerily still. Venge’s head tilted slowly, a feral reproduction of Obi-Wan's thoughtful pose. "Interesting. I lost my master the same way, but I waited for the shield to fall and fought him blade to blade. _You_ used the Dark side?"

Qui-Gon’s hands trembled. "How did you fall?" The tilted look remained, until Qui-Gon lunged forward, a confused mess of rage, regret, and misery narrowing his vision as he rushed at Venge. "Tell me!"

Venge seemed to disappear, he moved so quickly. When Qui-Gon reached where Venge had been, he turned to find the Sith already across the room, maintaining their original distance from each other. "I followed my padawan."

For a moment, he wondered if this Venge knew some Force technique to rip the air from someone's lungs. Padawan? Obi-Wan's- if Qui-Gon had died, then- "Anakin?" he managed to whisper.

There was the faintest quirk of an eyebrow. "If he is here, I-"

"No! Are you _mad_?" Qui-Gon slumped again, finally able to breathe at something approaching normal. Obi-Wan… Anakin… "Well. Aren't we a set."

* * *

Qui-Gon looked up at him with an almost heartbroken expression. "I don't suppose you have any good news from your reality?"

Venge only pondered for a moment. "Well, my Qui-Gon is a great fuck."

He had the great pleasure of watching several impossible expressions replace the heartbreak. "Wha- but- " Qui-Gon's mouth moved silently a few times. "That's Attachment!" he wailed like a youngling being sent to bed.

"How much of a Jedi are you?" Venge meant for it to be more caustic, disdainful, but curiosity got the better of him. He started pacing again, but when Qui-Gon seemed too baffled to keep up, he simply strolled back and forth in front of the man.

At least Qui-Gon never took his eyes off Venge, even scandalized as he was. The look of shame - pinked around the edges with embarrassment, overshadowed by bitterness - was a surprise. Then Qui-Gon did that disturbingly magnificent lift of the chin again, hiding the gauntness of his face. "Why?"

"Because I can never figure out how stupid a particular Jedi Order is going to be." The pacing went from posturing to needing to burn off anger – a fiercer, more brutal stalk. "Where I am from, _padawans_ are not supposed to get Attached, as they are considered to be at a stage too volatile to allow for objective handling of such bonds. Adults, however, are believed to be competent enough to have friends and lovers. My Jedi at least acknowledge that they are in an _Order_ , and all the cohesion that that entails. Do yours expect all their members to be solitary little beacons of detachment in a garden together?"

From the stunned look on Qui-Gon's face, probably. Venge hated this reality already.

* * *

It was beyond unreal. His padawan, far more rule-abiding than Qui-Gon would ever be, was moving like a jungle cat, back and forth and furious enough to show fangs and claws. Venge was advocating letting oneself create close connections to others, to favor a select few over the greater good.

That sounded like something _he_ would say.

Admittedly, without any mention of fucking.

Now, wasn't that a mental image he had longed for.

Qui-Gon shook his head, long diplomatic practice making it seem like a slightly surprised denial rather than a motion to clear his mind. "It seems neither of us is quite what we expected. How much of a Jedi are you?"

Venge snarled. "Enough that I do not wish to be here any longer than I have to. This is one of Dooku's ridiculous hideouts? It cannot possibly house Sidious."

Qui-Gon could practically feel the Sith glow in his eyes flare as the eager rage welled up within him. "Is that his Master?"

"Are you always this obsessed?"

"On this matter, yes."

Venge was already shaking his head. "Suicide some other way. Sidious makes Dooku look like a child's rag doll dressed up to play Jedi and Sith. Attacking him will only piss him off and feed him a nice snack."

"You think I care about that?"

The younger man glared at him. "You would feed him more power?" He started stalking forward, and this time Qui-Gon did not retreat. "Are you so obsessed with one dead padawan that you would risk making a monster stronger, a monster that will "drown the galaxy in Darkness," and slaughter any child he encounters unless they would be more fun to twist into a monstrous toy?"

They were almost nose to nose, and Qui-Gon glared into his eyes. "Then help me. Isn't that how the Sith do it? Secret alliances with other Sith? Or was your padawan too monstrous a toy to dare try?"

* * *

Venge pulled back abruptly to avoid hitting the man. This Qui-Gon had sharper edges than he expected, taking his mate's insight and honing it razor thin. He hadn't realized he'd put that much emphasis on Sidious' habit, but apparently it had been enough. "You know nothing about that."

"No? Perhaps I am not the only one obsessed with a padawan."

They glared at each other for a long moment, the Force rippling around them in their agitation. A part of Venge wanted to laugh. The Fire wanted him to attack. He stood still, trying to breathe through the rage. "He got me to fall. He was behind the fall of my– Anakin, Dooku, and possibly even Xanatos." Oh, and he was viciously glad to see that flinch. "Where I am from, he brought down the entire fucking Republic. And you want us to waltz in and _invite ourselves TO FUCKING TEA_?"

"No. But this is what I've spent the last–"

"The hell with that! I am trying to get home! To my family!"

"Then help me avenge mine! If you won't fight with me, give me a name, weaknesses, theories, _anything_!"

Damn him, damn Force Storms, damn _Sidious_ , damn it all to hell. Venge missed his mate, their padawans, the feel of them through the Force, the banter and the joy. Yet here was this haggard man, with Sith-yellow eyes and his mate's face, asking him to do something absolutely mad. With a face like that before him, he almost desperately wanted to. It was not _his_ Qui-Gon, but…

"I am not joyriding around realities to help kill him everywhere I go."

"So you're saying-"

" _Nothing_ of the sort!" Venge spun away and with a small roar, sent a blast of the Force at the crumbling wall. The stones exploded from their positions, hurtling through a corridor and another room behind it. The debris took down several battle droids in a shower of sparks and protesting metal. 

Venge stood there, panting, wild eyed, reminding himself that one Sidious was _more_ than enough for any one lifetime, that he was _already_ on number two and he was not about to make that _three_. "I fought him once, at home. I... look, it involves time travel. The second time has been rougher. He is not yet dead, and that is another reason I _have_ to get home." Venge's breaths were the only sound aside from sparking droids.

Finally, Qui-Gon sighed. "Then a name. I swear to you, on the Force, that I will not be reckless."

* * *

Qui-Gon didn't think it would be enough, but it was all he had. He watched the other Sith who stood, head bowed. His eyes were almost closed, sending strange amber shadows along his cheeks.

"Chancellor Palpatine."

Qui-Gon almost staggered. He could hear the Force agreeing, faint but strong and _right_ in a way he had not heard in so long. 

The single most powerful man in the entire Republic was Sith.

" _Force_." He put a hand against the wall, needing the support. 

"You thought I was keeping quiet to spare your tender fucking sensibilities?" Venge swung around to glare at him. "He has more money than the Hutts, he _runs_ the entire fucking Republic, he has influence in almost every powerful faction in the galaxy, _and_ he is the most powerful Sith in centuries. Worse, he is a master schemer, the kind with plans within plans a dozen times over. You could work against him for a lifetime only to find that you were working against yourself all along." Venge paused to let that sink in. "There. You have your name. Now point me towards the nearest 'fresher and get the fuck out of my way."

Qui-Gon could tell he surprised Venge by complying. He didn't mind; if nothing else it gave him time to re-center himself. He ended up cross-legged in the opulent sitting room of his quarters, trying to meditate. It had been.... quite a while since he'd done this. 

It didn't work, but it gave him time to sort through Venge's... situation. Time travel. Different realities. 

_Well, my Qui-Gon is a great fuck_. Qui-Gon snorted and shook his head. Beyond the very strange, obvious points to that, "is" was a strange choice of word. He'd lost his master– Qui-Gon's breath hitched without him meaning to. He could hardly imagine it. Obi-Wan, trying to deal with a fresh knighting, a brand new padawan, and his master's death, all at once. It must have been an awful, confusing mess.

Time travel. Fighting a Sith lord, and-

Qui-Gon found his arms had moved, wrapping around his stomach. He was bent over, shaking, crying. He had to fight to keep control of himself.

He desperately wanted to beg this Venge to teach him, show him what he knew. Yet, too much of Qui-Gon knew that to be blind folly. Time travel? To when? Naboo? Sooner? To some other reality, and some other Obi-Wan?

What would the _point_ be? It would not be his Obi-Wan, his universe. Qui-Gon was not the man he had been, he could not simply traipse into someone else's _life_ and- 

What? Change it? Destroy it? Insert himself into it, certain that he knew better, or that because he had lived things once, he could avoid fucking them up again?

He was _Dark_. He might not have fallen all the way, but he was no longer a Jedi by any stretch of the imagination, and the Dark side did not willingly let go of those it caught. What right did he have to do such a thing?

No. Venge at least had _some_ idea of what he was doing.

Qui-Gon let himself grieve. This was his reality, and whatever else happened, there would be no miracles in his future. 

When he was finally somewhat composed, he straightened, trying to consider the situation strategically. Venge was here, and would leave. Qui-Gon, in the meantime, finally had the information he had been looking for. There was no reason to stay here any longer. He wanted nothing more to do with Dooku, and he was fairly certain that any information he gathered about the Separatist’s movements and plans was of minimal use. 

Of course, where else would he go?

He did regret his promise, at least somewhat. Nothing reckless, and that would include deciding to pursue Palpatine on his own.

In short, he needed help.

* * *

Under other circumstances – involving a lot less of the Dark side, and a lot more being at _home_ – Venge would have enjoyed the opportunity to take advantage of Dooku's lavish tastes. For a traditional, hide-bound Jedi, the Count liked his luxuries.

Admittedly, he'd been through enough realities lately that the chance to clean up and rest in relative safety even for a few minutes was not to be underestimated. Sith holding or not, Venge could feel that this Qui-Gon was... at least somewhat reliable. Enough so that he could take some time to himself.

Not to mention it was a damn fine 'fresher.

He wasn't really surprised to find Qui-Gon slowly pacing back and forth in the front area of the uninhabited suite. He just raised a brow and waited. 

Qui-Gon stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm headed to Coruscant. I'm not doing anyone any good here-"

"I thought you said nothing reckless."

The wry grin under Sith-yellow eyes almost made Venge flinch. "And I am keeping to that, much as I might regret it. I'm not going to confront Sidious. Not yet, at least. If I do, it will be with planning and more resources than I have now." Venge could see the older man steeling himself. "But I can't be the only one to know this. If something happens... I need to tell Yoda."

Venge crossed his arms and glared. "I should care why?"

"If there is anything else I can do to make your journey easier before I leave, I'd like to know." Qui-Gon managed another wry grin. "If there's any more you'd like to share about Sidious, I'd greatly appreciate it." 

It was just so disturbingly like Qui. The graciousness laced with humor. The clear desire for company. The thirst for knowledge.

Yet, there was also a thirst for vengeance. There was a brutality to this man that was not within his mate – above all, those eyes. Every time Venge looked at those eyes, something inside him almost screamed, terrified and furious that somehow, someone had twisted his mate into something Dark, as Anakin had been twisted into Vader. It was not his mate; it was not even like the Qui-Gon he had met on a previous world. No, this was a twisted reflection of what he so desperately wanted to see. 

Something even deeper inside wondered if his Qui saw him the same way, as merely a perversion of Obi-Wan.

He didn't know how he felt, himself.

"Some ration bars might be good. So, when are you leaving?"

Qui-Gon nodded, then looked away. "As soon as you are ready to leave. There's a shuttle that should get me there within a day, and Dooku shouldn't be back until tomorrow at the earliest."

Well fuck. It would be a minimum of two days before he was ready to jump again, and it looked like he wouldn't be able to hide out here while he waited. Venge really, really hated this reality.

* * *

Qui-Gon waited, wondering just what had annoyed Venge now. "Fantastic," the man muttered. "Just what is it you are planning on telling Yoda?"

He blinked a little, caught off-guard by the change in topics. "I– that I had finally found out who-"

"Yes, yes, and he will believe that the Chancellor is Sith why?"

Qui-Gon knew he was missing something, but he had no idea what. "If he hasn't trusted my reports so far, then it doesn't matter much, does it?"

Venge glared at him, eyes blazing, and he had to wonder what drove the man to channel that much Dark energy. "And he will not think you are mad because…?"

Here he was again, tromping all over uncertain enough ground. "He's still the most likely to listen without trying to remove my head from my shoulders," Qui-Gon pointed out. "Beggars cannot be choosers."

They shared glares for a moment. Then Venge snorted. "Idiot. You told me nothing reckless, and I am going to hold you to that."

He didn't realize at first that meant Venge was going to come along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS for Flamethrower's work. Please skip this if you do not want them!**
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> Venge is in fact Obi-Wan Kenobi who, at the end of the Original Trilogy, got sent back in time through means the audience does not yet understand to his own body at age 16. He retains his memories - to a greater or lesser degree- and much of his skills. This includes the time between Episodes 3 and 4 where he tries to hunt down Darth Sidious to avenge Anakin, only to be taken in as a quasi-apprentice to the Dark side. He is dubbed Darth Venge. Thankfully, he eventually escapes. However, back in Obi-Wan's second trip through his timeline - wherein many things happen differently, including Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon becoming a couple - he encounters a poison known as A Drop of Fire, which stimulates the emotional centers of the brain to produce unending rage. Since Jedi are completely unsuited to handle this, Obi-Wan is forced to resort to what has, because of some shenanigans, effectively become his Sith persona, Venge. Due to Fire's extreme effects, he's forced to channel Dark energy continuously, at an increased rate, 24/7.
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> **END SPOILERS**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many thanks to Flamethrower for the ability to play with her toys in her sandbox (...or at least the one next door), and wrangling of adverbs and other such typos. 
> 
> This chapter was brought to you by [Glitch Mob's Our Demons](http://youtu.be/VkvOLB7Yzhs), which has since become Balance's theme song.

When Yoda had received the first private message from Qui-Gon, five long years ago, he’d felt a vast sense of relief that at least Qui-Gon was still out there somewhere, and reaching out to him. Surely his grand-padawan was struggling his way through the Darkness and would not let it overcome him.

He’d been wrong.  The reality, he’d soon found, was much, much worse.

Yoda still remembered the empty look on his grand-padawan’s face upon Qui-Gon’s return from the disastrous mission on Naboo, bringing with him Padawan Kenobi’s corpse and a subdued Anakin Skywalker. Then, in front of the entire Council, Qui-Gon had admitted to using the Dark side. Not just reaching for it in a moment of anger, but knowingly using it to violently and painfully kill Kenobi’s murderer. That it was a Sith he had killed caused quite an uproar among the Council, though it had made no difference to his sentence.

Perhaps they had decided too quickly.  Perhaps they had decided out of fear.  Nonetheless, Qui-Gon had accepted their ruling without comment or complaint. Throughout the sentencing, Qui-Gon had stood, face lined with grief, head held defiantly high. 

Yoda had not mistaken Qui-Gon’s silence for serenity, however.  Rather, it had been the empty devastation of being hollowed out and scraped raw.  His grand-padawan simply hadn’t _cared_ that he’d been cast out of the Order. Qui-Gon had nodded once, turned, and walked out of the Council chamber. He had removed a few items from his rooms, and then he’d disappeared.

Within a day, Dooku had also resigned from the Order, claiming that his padawan's treatment was disgraceful. Were not the Jedi there to stop the Sith? Had Qui-Gon Jinn not done so? He had confessed, and moreover, the dead Sith’s last words… _"An apprentice for an apprentice."_

It had clearly haunted Qui-Gon. It enraged Dooku.

It... _concerned_ Yoda.

There was a Sith Master out there, and they would take another apprentice. That was the way of the Dark side. It fed upon petty weaknesses, perpetuating and proliferating even when one thought that every root and tendril was removed.

Qui-Gon had taken refuge with Dooku not long afterwards. Dooku... had Fallen. 

Not as Qui-Gon had, in a moment of emotion and painfully clear Attachment. His was intentional, deliberate; Dooku had sworn fealty to the Sith Master whose existence was implied by Kenobi's killer.

At first, Yoda hadn’t wanted to believe Qui-Gon’s messages, which were audio only, without holograms or images.  How could he be sure it was Qui-Gon?  Yet, he’d known that voice, even ragged and hopeless as it was, and the messages had kept coming.

The messages were terse and to the point, but damning. Everything Yoda could corroborate matched with what Qui-Gon was telling him.  All the rumblings within the Senate of Separatists were true – and it was headed by Dooku. There were disturbing details regarding some of Dooku's future plans, though Qui-Gon had given no indication of what Yoda was to do with this, if anything. As the communicator Qui-Gon used could neither be tracked nor identified, Yoda had no way to ask.  All he could do was listen.  It was his penance, he sometimes thought, for not fighting harder for his grand-padawan to stay in the Order.

When he had received the latest message from Qui-Gon, a part of him had sighed and hoped against hope for some good news. He had not expected a request for a clandestine meeting with his grand-padawan near the Senate District. There had been an intensity, a life to Qui-Gon’s request that Yoda hadn’t heard in years. He didn’t know if that was good or bad.

Yoda took a deep breath, centering himself. He stared at the noisy, bustling diner, unsure whether he was making the right choice, or a grave mistake.  The Force only muttered to itself in confusion, as it had for years now, giving him no insight. He arrived early, hood up and lightsaber close at hand, yet when a droid waitress escorted him to a booth tucked into a dark corner, it already had two cloaked occupants.

The taller figure, all in black, sat on the outside, tension clear in the rigid stillness of his body. The man on the inside of the booth, however...

He was all but blank within the Force, a faint whisper of... something foreign, strange – like a small flame flickering underwater. He huddled in his brown cloak in an almost grumpy slouch against the wall, shoulders hunched up and his hood low to shield his face.

Both turned to look at Yoda at the same time, but said nothing as he settled himself on the bench opposite them. Then the one in black reached out and toggled a device on the table. A shimmering curtain of energy closed between the three of them and the rest of the eatery, cutting off the chatter from the other patrons.

Yoda was not surprised that the taller man dropped his hood to reveal Qui-Gon, but it hurt to see the changes five years had wrought. It should have been heartening that there was emotion on Qui-Gon's face now, but it was grim, driven anger barely hiding underneath a Jedi's serenity. His face was lined with signs of darker emotions, and his hair had gone entirely steel gray– none of which was flattered by the black robes, which left him looking pale and faded.

It was the leanness that was most disconcerting.  Not just the lost weight, which hollowed Qui-Gon's cheeks and made his huge frame look gaunt, but a watchful, hungry air. The former Jedi was no longer a peacekeeper, a protector, or a diplomat.  Qui-Gon Jinn had become a predator.

Still, Qui-Gon did try for a flicker of a smile. "Master Yoda," he greeted softly, voice holding the by-now-familiar slight rasp that had developed over the years. "It is very good to see you again."

"You as well, Padawan of my Padawan. Good news brings you here?" He sounded doubtful even to himself, and the still-cloaked man contributed a dubious snort.

"I'm sorry, no. Though, I do have information." By Qui-Gon's pinched expression, this was poor news indeed. It was most interesting to see the way his grand-padawan took a breath to center himself before meeting Yoda's eyes. "I have found the Master."

Yoda closed his eyes in a moment of acknowledgment, struggling to maintain a hold on his emotions. The Force rippled around the table with his agitation and concern for what would happen now. How far would Qui-Gon fall, and in what direction?

When he opened his eyes, Qui-Gon was studying him closely, some strange expression on his face. "Do you trust me, Master?"

"Enough to be here, I do."

"What we are to speak of will put your life in grave danger. You will most likely not believe it, even if it doesn't kill you." His humor had returned, even if it was grimmer.

Yoda nodded. "Then speak of it, you should. What foe do we face?"

The cloaked man stirred a little even as Qui-Gon shook his head. "Master Yoda, we are nowhere near that yet." A sad grimace crossed his face. "I will tell you of our enemy. But you should know where most of the corroborating evidence comes from." He glanced over at the other man. "I swear to you on the Force, you are safe here, and we wish you no harm."

Yoda nodded, rapping the head of his gimer stick lightly against the table. "My thanks. It is mutual, mmm?"

Qui-Gon inclined his head in cautious assent, taking another breath. "I would like you to meet my companion. Master Yoda, this is Darth Venge."

Darth–!

The man lowered his hood, revealing a human face, but his eyes...

For the first time in what had to be decades, a frisson of cold fear shot down Yoda’s spine.

Fury lined the human's face, easily eclipsing the signs of anger that Yoda had seen moving across Qui-Gon's. His eyes _blazed_ yellow with the caustic power of the Dark side. Then the man smirked, tilted those horrible eyes downwards, and dipped his head in a precise near-bow of recognition. "Master Yoda."

For a moment, Coruscant stopped moving. Yoda could not breathe. His ears slipped backwards, his eyes went wide, and deep inside, a part of him cried out to the Force.

Obi-Wan Kenobi. This was _impossible_. Obi-Wan Kenobi was _dead_. With Qui-Gon’s disappearance, Yoda had seen to the funeral pyre himself. Yet here Qui-Gon's padawan sat, shielding the blazing Darkness in his eyes so completely as to appear as _nothing_ in the Force, nothing more than an empty seat. The legacy was complete. Dooku to Qui-Gon to Xanatos, and now Obi-Wan; the entire line of Jedi headed by Yoda’s last padawan, was Dark.

Common sense struggled to reassert itself through the shock.  It could be any one of a dozen things – a biological relative, a strange fluke, or even simple facial reconstruction.  No, this _could not be_ –

"Tch. He recognizes me, but will not believe. I told you so." Even the voice was right, if a bit deeper, a bit sharper.

"And I told you– " Qui-Gon began.

Darth Venge placed his hand on the table, within Yoda's reach, palm up.  "If he does not believe this, then he will never believe the insane things about to come out of your mouth.” The Sith’s attention snapped back to Yoda. “I can prove it."

"You can't be serious," Qui-Gon said, startled.

"It is either this or get stuck on this hellhole of a planet while you two debate the matter," Venge snarled, then turned his gaze on Yoda.  It was a challenge, but not, Yoda thought, a threat, even though the Sith’s eyes still glowed that furious amber.

Yoda paused, then slowly reached out, aware that he could be putting his life in the Sith's hands.  The shields that kept the man invisible in the Force did not extend to keeping out any sense of him once there was physical contact, although Yoda was not sure if that was a good thing.

It was like walking into the heart of a sun, a nuclear furnace of rage and power, immense pressure and searing heat kept at bay only by the will of the Sith...who was not happy about Yoda's presence.  Opening his eyes in alarm, Yoda found Venge looking at him with annoyance, which echoed through their connection.

"I do have some self-control," Venge said dryly.

Strangely enough, it was Qui-Gon's look of consternation that reassured Yoda – if the Sith deviating from their plan didn’t move Qui-Gon to intervene, then there had to be at least some trust there. Even so, his heart beat faster than normal as he closed his eyes and reached out to sense the Sith before him.

It was difficult to feel anything except the pounding rage at first, but as Yoda quieted himself, shadows of other things started to make themselves known.  Cracked and shattered, Venge's psyche emerged in scorched sections, held in place sometimes by pure willpower alone.  As Yoda sank deeper, there emerged the battered center of what had once been Obi-Wan Kenobi, curled tightly behind protective shards of hate and fear.

Venge was becoming extremely unhappy with having another presence so near to his vulnerable center, the bonds of self-restraint creaking under the pressure of fear and killing bloodlust.

Retreating as smoothly as he could, Yoda pulled away from Venge's presence, then lifted his hand from the Sith's. He felt again the absence in the Force as Venge's presence hid itself.

Yoda didn't understand why Obi-Wan – Venge – had allowed him so close.  Not even Jedi made a habit of allowing others such intimate access.  However, it was irrefutable.  This was, or had been, Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

"Felt Obi-Wan die, I did," Yoda grumped, thumping his gimer stick against the seat. "Explain this, you will!" His voice came out sharp, perhaps a little shrill, but the only other sign of disturbance or sorrow was the tight grip on his cane.

Venge pulled his hand back, rapidly clenching and unclenching it as the skin around his eyes tightened. For a moment, the Sith breathed heavily through his nose, working hard to regain his composure. When he stopped moving his fist, he looked up, once again composed. 

The Sith shrugged and gave Yoda a sour look. "You did not feel _my_ death. I am not your Obi-Wan." With a slight quirk of the brow, his eyes darted over towards Qui-Gon – whose face had gotten pinched. "I am from a different reality. I cannot guarantee what I know is accurate here within yours, but–" He grimaced. "It tends to overlap a hell of a lot."

That was so impossible, it was almost plausible. Yoda _had_ felt Padawan Kenobi die, yet here he sat. A traveler from some other version of the galaxy – it was almost comforting to think that perhaps…perhaps it was different enough that this was not to be…

…Feared. Yoda huffed, frustrated, and tried to release the tangled mess of his own confusion and fear into the Force. Venge, misunderstanding the source of his frustration – or perhaps understanding too well –quirked a small grin. "If Qui-Gon was going to lie," he drawled, dry as a dust, "there are any number of more plausible and less spectacular ways to go about it."

Qui-Gon leaned forward. "There are some small differences, but every major event, and _everything_ – " His voice caught, and his fingers curled. "Everything about the Naboo mission is identical except for which of us dies at the end."

Qui-Gon, dead. Obi-Wan, almost a knight, but young and impetuous still. The outcome was obvious. "Then, Fall at Qui-Gon's death, you also did?"

"No," Venge snapped. "Although the temptation was there." The Sith pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "I am...somewhat older than I look. I Fell later, though for similar reasons, and that is _all_ I will say on the subject."

Yoda took a moment, then looked between the two humans. "If accept this I do, then before me two Sith I have, willing to aid the Jedi against a Sith Master. Why?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "None of that matters." His jaw clenched, and Yoda bit back an oath as his grand-padawan's eyes flickered a brief, jarring yellow. "He took Obi-Wan from me. I will see him dead if it's the last thing I do."

Yoda tried not to gape. Yes, he understood Qui-Gon’s grief; he had _seen_ the way the man had reacted to young Kenobi’s death. In eight hundred years, Yoda had certainly seen and experienced his share of tragedy, but Jedi were taught to reject and release such negative emotions. The level of Attachment he was seeing here was beyond reason, beyond the skirting of the boundary between compassion and Attachment that Jedi often politely disregarded in each other. Was this an obsession that had built in Qui-Gon with progressive use of the Dark side, or was it somehow already there at Obi-Wan’s death, the seeds sown long before–

Oh.

Oh, no.

Yoda considered his own visits to the crèche, meeting the younglings and providing guidance, wisdom, and more often than not humor.

He always went to meditate afterwards, sitting in a quiet garden and feeling a touch of regret, of _sorrow_ , as he released his affection and fondness to the Force – released his _Attachment_ into the Force. Yet he kept returning, kept courting Attachment. Did it all go back to him? Had he been right, all those times he'd worried that it was something in him, in his own teachings, that had made Dooku and all the other Jedi of his line fall to Darkness?

Was _he_ the rot that had corrupted his student, and his student's students?

Venge huffed, pulling Yoda from his horrified thoughts. "You are not a Sith, Jinn. Not truly. Not yet."

Both Yoda and Qui-Gon blinked. "What?"

The Sith turned to his seatmate. "You have not taken the final step. You have not made your Sacrifice. You are Dark, no question." He shrugged, as if it were no matter. "But a Sith? Dooku was overly optimistic when he saddled you with that ridiculous name."

"He said he was willing to be patient, with that if nothing else," Qui-Gon acknowledged with an almost rueful tilt of the head. Yoda could not help but wonder what else his once-padawan had asked, had _insisted_ upon, to get that sort of reaction.

None of the options were in the least bit attractive.

"Ha! More likely, he does not wish his own Master to come sniffing around too much. You were to be his ace in the hole." The man who had once been Obi-Wan had a disturbing sneer.

The old Jedi Master leaned forward, knuckles tight on his gimer stick. "Known to you, Dooku's Master is?"

Venge snarled, somehow looking even more like some feral feline. "Up close and fucking personal."

"And the same person in both worlds, you believe this Sith Master is?"

"Yes. Everything fits."

"Then a name, I would ask of you." Yoda needed to know who had twisted his Padawan.

Qui-Gon gave his head a brief shake. "You're not going to like it."

"Like it, I already do _not_." He thumped the seat once, ears pinned back.

His grand-padawan met his eyes. Qui-Gon's glare was once again flickering sulfur-yellow. "Chancellor Palpatine."

Yoda’s immediate reaction was denial. The Chancellor of the Republic wasn't a Sith, _couldn't_ be a Sith. He'd met with the man regularly due to Order responsibilities. Surely if this was so, he would have _known_. 

"Palpatine?" Yoda repeated in blank shock. He reached for the Force, both for reassurance and to test the truth of the claim, but there was only the same confused eddies, neither affirming nor denying Venge's claims.

"Gods, even the Force?" Qui-Gon muttered, quiet and horrified, staring off into the mid-distance.

"Even that," Venge said grimly, his mouth a tight line. "He is very good at what he does."

"What?" Yoda asked, ears twitching forward.

Venge stared at him with blazing yellow eyes, furious and frustrated. "You yourself must have noticed that the Force on Coruscant has grown clouded. Sidious – Palpatine – has been setting his plans into motion for decades now, and he is not the first. The line of Bane stretches back to the Ruusan Reformation, and their first goal is the destruction of the Jedi."

Yoda narrowed his eyes. "Affect the Force, they can? How?"

"Slowly. Ever so slowly. It is an insidious form of Darkness that clouds and obscures the Force, and even a Jedi's own mind. It is here even now. Here, and all across Coruscant."

"Such Darkness could not long go unnoticed," Yoda protested. Surely the Jedi would have sensed things being hidden from them in such a way.

Venge gave him a look almost of pity, and a chill prickled up Yoda's back. "You have been a Jedi for a very long time, Master Yoda," Venge said. "You saw the Jedi Temple soon after its last reconstruction, am I right?"

"Yes."

"I would guess it was built to accommodate as many Jedi as it needed to, at the time. Tell me, Master Yoda, when was the last time the crèche was full?"

It was an odd question – not really relevant to anything, not important. But Venge’s burning yellow eyes were fixed on his, and somehow that made it…easier? Something...something was very wrong.

Unease curled in Yoda’s stomach, and he frowned. When _was_ the last time the crèche had been full? How many crèchelings, how many initiates, were there? Did he even know?

He was Grand Master of the Jedi Order.

How many Jedi _were_ there?

He...didn't _know?_

“Are there more or less than there were two hundred years ago?” Venge asked. “Five hundred years ago? What about when you arrived?”

It had been years, centuries, since Yoda had thought of those early days. Now that he was paying attention - now that he _could_ pay attention, the contrast between the bustling, active temple he’d arrived at and the serene, quiet home he knew today, shook him down to his bones.

“Affected, I am.” It was a sickening realization, that he might not be safe even in his own mind.

“Affected, every Jedi is,” Venge added. “That is the nature of this trap.”

Yoda knew his reputation, even as he laughed at it. So many Jedi praised his connection with the Force, his dedication to the Order. Really, it was only that he’d had so much longer to practice, but that did afford him a certain level of experience.

If even he was blind–

"Show me, you must." Yoda was surprised to find the words coming from his mouth. He looked up, to see a curious Venge and a concerned Qui-Gon. "Please."

Qui-Gon hesitated before leaning forward. He was tentative when resting a large hand atop of Yoda's. "Extend your senses into the Force, Master.”

Yoda closed his eyes and did as he was asked, feeling the swirling currents of present, past, and future, creating faint images and impressions of the world surrounding him. He was keenly aware of the smoldering anger and crippling loss within the man who held his hand.

Then that changed, grew Darker. The impressions of Qui-Gon's emotions snarled, a predator rousing for the hunt. That power, the Dark side itself, curled around Yoda without ever truly touching him, but even as it shied away from him, it clawed at the air around him. At first, Yoda thought it was a futile gesture, mindless rage, but gradually he began to see something else.

There were...tatters, threads of something hanging in the air. It was of the Force, but it was Dark and foul. Almost reflective, it was camouflaged on one side and made of vileness on the other. As the power Qui-Gon wielded flexed, the strange veil parted.

Yoda did not feel fear.

This verged upon terror.

This miasma was everywhere, now that he could see the other side of it. It wrapped around people, objects, memories and thoughts. It warped the world around it, calling up Darkness and all the filth it encompassed. He could feel it, pressing against his skin and whispering in his mind, and even though he now knew of it, of its presence, he could not clearly tell what it was doing to him.

Qui-Gon released his hand and sat back, closing Sith-colored eyes. All Yoda could do was to try to gasp for breath, wide-eyed and glaring down at his cane, the only thing he could consider a steady point at the moment.

To have been so blinded and deceived, and that he had never even _suspected_ – it tightened his chest like a vice. The world seemed to drop out from under him in a dizzying rush of fear and, yes, anger. Not as much as the anger in Qui-Gon, which had eaten away at him, leaving him looking not just older, but hollow. Most certainly not as much as the fury burning in Venge – the very name!

Yet once they had been Jedi. Qui-Gon Jinn had ever been the maverick, but always at heart one who listened to the Force. He had always done his best by both those who needed him and the Order, thinking little of himself. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been the earnest young almost-knight, happiest when he was doing something to help those around him.

Once they had been Jedi, before the abyss opened up before them. While the Force – even clouded as it was – bolstered Yoda still, for the first time in centuries he could see that abyss himself. 

The entire line, from Dooku right down to Obi-Wan, had Fallen. 

Was it his fault? Was the Darkness affecting him in ways he couldn’t even imagine, and thus his teachings? Was it affecting _other_ Jedi the same way?

He needed answers. Yoda took in a breath to bolster his courage, and then looked at the Sith. "Understand, I do not." He gestured around them. "This darkness, you see, yet still the Dark side you use. The destruction it causes, you well know. Warps everything, it does, the planet, the Republic– " He hesitated, before deciding he needed the information more than he needed to be safe. "Even you. Why persist?"

Neither Sith seemed inclined to take offense, though Venge's lips curled into a small snarl. Qui-Gon leaned forward, a conflicted expression upon his face. "Partly, to gain me access to Dooku, but not only for that reason. I have– meditated on this a great deal. I could very well be fooling myself, but I am not certain that it is likely. The Living Force is a part of all things, all beings. Do we hold a predator to be Dark for protecting its cubs? There is a fierceness, an anger to that, but most beings in the galaxy would praise this behavior. Why do we think that the Force encompasses all beings, but not all sides to those beings? All living things feel – that includes anger and fear. By insisting that the Light side of the Force is the only part to listen to, you deny that a part of these beings exist."

Yoda tried not to flinch at Qui-Gon's use of "you." You Jedi, he might as well have said. Yoda's ears lowered, the only sign of his grief that even Qui-Gon thought himself past return or redemption. Even so, he had to reluctantly concede that Qui-Gon seemed to have thought this through. Venge, meanwhile, remained silent, though he shifted uneasily, crossing his arms and glaring away through the energy curtain with apparent disinterest. Yet in turn, this very fact was reassuring. This Sith, so subtly powerful, in command and in control, did not have all the answers. The more experienced, the more apparently confident of the two, did not entirely understand all of the Force, this philosophy that Qui-Gon was grappling with.

Deep inside, Yoda could almost hear a small voice. _What if…_

"Use of the Dark side – careful, considered use – it is acknowledging the entirety of beings, embracing the Darker side of the Force to restrain it, instead of pretending it was never there to begin with. What has denying the Dark side done for the Jedi? It leaves you vulnerable. If you look away from the danger it represents, it will strike without warning." Qui-Gon gestured grandly around the diner. "Look around, Master! _This_ is what ignoring half of the entire universe has wrought!"

"The best eats in the Coco Town streets?" Venge murmured, earning himself a glare from Qui-Gon. Then he shrugged and shifted again to meet Yoda's eyes. "Melodramatic as that was – you have been spending _far_ too much time with Dooku – Qui-Gon has a point. Although not, perhaps, the one he thinks he does. I do not know if balance between Light and Dark the way he describes it is feasible. But the lot of us – Jedi _and_ Sith – have some fucking horrible blind spots.

“Jinn almost has the shape of it, but even he has not articulated it fully. Master Yoda, you know what I am. I am Sith. What sets me apart from the likes of Sidious or Maul is something neither Jedi nor Sith encourage. Attachment.”

“Leads to the Dark side, Attachment does,” Yoda objected. The proscription was so ingrained, he didn’t even think about it.

“It can. But it can also be a counterbalance.” The yellow of Venge’s eyes seemed to intensify. "In my world, the only reason I bother with the entire fucking Jedi Order is _because_ I am Attached." As Yoda's ears lifted in astonishment, Venge raised quite the sardonic brow. "My family and I are very Attached to each other. The hate I have for Sidious– " He shook his head fiercely. "You cannot begin to imagine. The only. Single. Thing. That keeps me from doing everything in my power, burning down half the galaxy if need be, just to rip out his throat, is Attachment. I consider my family to be worth more than that,” Venge said, his voice shaking with anger. It would take a Force blind idiot centuries younger than Yoda to not see the love that this Obi-Wan felt for these beings. “You ask why I use the Dark side? Because it is the only weapon I have to protect my family with, and I will be _damned_ if I give that up.”

It was, in a word, impossible. Not even for the wildest, most improbable theoretical debate, would a Jedi consider arguing that that Light and Dark could be used in balance, or that Attachment could stay a Sith’s burning hatred. Yet here Yoda sat, before two living, breathing examples of those very things.

Yoda’s mind spun. He knew that the Sith philosophy was wrong. The very air around Coruscant was a terrifying, horribly present reminder of that...and yet. What if...

What if the _Jedi_ were wrong as well?

It was an uncomfortable thought, foreign and prickly. Yet didn’t the Prophecy of the Chosen One itself imply some sort of imbalance? It did say that the Chosen One would bring ‘balance to the Force.’ 

The Prophecy had weighed heavily on the Council in the days after young Skywalker's arrival and Kenobi's death. Nothing seemed to have come of it, so it had been dismissed out of hand, and forgotten by most.

However, every now and again, the Force had nudged him, reminded him in faint hints of whispers.

_In the time of greatest despair,_  
 _a child shall be born_  
 _who will destroy the Sith_  
 _and bring balance to the Force._

Balance to the Force.

Grand Master Yoda looked back over his lifetime of experience, remembering hundreds of years and hundreds of Jedi debating over the Living Force versus the Unifying Force, sometimes coming to blows – and on a few occasions a small, quiet schism – though always, always denying the Dark side. Wasn’t Qui-Gon right? Wasn’t it all the Force in the end? They taught crèchelings this! The Force _is_. It is in every being, every thing, it is everywhere and all around you.

Wasn’t denying the Dark side and all emotional attachments a form of fear in itself? Was it truly better to consider the Dark side an anomaly and avert their eyes from it? 

Yoda lifted his head, feeling much like he had as Qui-Gon had torn the shroud of darkness from his eyes. The Grand Master of the Jedi Order sat in a diner, surrounded by the slimiest, foulest Darkness he had ever encountered. He looked at the two Sith waiting patiently, and opened himself to the Force, letting it swirl through him. It was still clouded and twisted, but he could find hints of rightness within it. It murmured soothingly to him, encouraging the decision he was astounded to find he had already made.

He had spent his life ignoring part of the Force, part of the universe. He had ignored a part of himself, and every Jedi around him.

It left him breathless, adrift and giddy as if he were in free-fall, trusting the Force and the universe around him to keep him safe and let him land somewhere on his feet. He had almost no idea what he was doing, and that was a novelty itself!

For an instant, Yoda grieved at that realization. How many centuries had it been since he had started to...to stagnate, much as the Order had? He had not been advancing or making progress for...how long?

He had no idea where to begin. This was the _Dark side_ he was looking at. Yet, there was a strange comfort looking at him very oddly from across the table. Venge – Venge was foreign, strange, and seemed almost primed to explode, but he was no monster. Qui-Gon was hurt, and hurting, yes, but also no monster.

Yoda could dimly, very dimly, recall stories from his very early years with the Order. Crècheling stories, about Jedi who Fell yet came back from the Dark, those who Fell but returned.

While he had no idea how to do this, it was the Force. He had spent his extensive existence dedicated to it, and he would not falter.

“Maybe, your Padawan, I should be,” Yoda said, not entirely joking. There had to be a way. Qui-Gon proved that.

It was astounding, realizing that the love Yoda felt for his Padawans, _their_ Padawans, friends, the children of the crèche, and the Jedi he'd raised and grieved for at their pyres – maybe it did not need to be ignored, given up, released into the Force. Maybe it was not selfish, not Dark– no. Maybe it was not _wrong_.

"Master Yoda–" Qui-Gon said, sounding a bit alarmed.

Yoda held up a hand, stopping Qui-Gon. "Good points, you have made. Appreciate it, I do. But important matters, we must discuss. What plans have you for Sidious?"

His grand-padawan looked away and growled. "I have no plans yet. I'll think of something."

Yoda couldn't quite stop a sigh. Ever impetuous, Qui-Gon was. "Then tell me of the foe you both have chosen to face.”

" _Both_?" Venge's voice fairly crackled with rage. "There is no ‘ _both_.’ I am here to verify what he says, and make sure he does not do anything fucking _stupid_. If we are done here, I am headed back to the shuttle and _off_ this fucking planet."

"Stay to fight, you will not?" Yoda asked, surprised that Venge, who seemed to be one big fight looking for somewhere to happen, would turn down such a chance.

"Everyone in this reality is fucking insane," Venge hissed. "You. Are. Not. Listening. Sidious runs the Republic. He's clouded all of fucking Coruscant, which houses, among other things, the heart of the Jedi Order. His abilities are extensive, up to and including ripping the fabric of the Force itself apart. He is a skilled precognitive, so even _if_ you decide to try something, he will have at least a dozen different traps for you!" Venge glared at him. "No, I am getting _out_ of here before the Force settles down enough to alert him to me, or to any of this."

Qui-Gon started to say something, then stopped and narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, before the Force settles down?"

Venge crossed his arms again. "What does it matter?"

"It matters because you haven't said anything about it before now," Qui-Gon scowled. "And how do you even know about it?"

"I have limited precognition, which is invariably fucked all to hell after I arrive in a new reality. _That_ only lasts for a few days at most – not enough time to plan anything useful. We already spent an entire day getting here."

Qui-Gon snarled, leaning in towards him. "But it still means that _now_ is my best chance– "

"And that is why I did not fucking tell you!" Venge straightened, glowering right back at the taller man. "Because it is _not_ your best fucking chance. _I_ would not wish to face Sidious alone, and allowing you to go off half-cocked is the fucking definition of reckless! Even with _both_ of us, I would not risk it! I have fought him before and _I lost_."

The two humans glared at each other, neither willing to back down.

"And if more help, you had?"

Venge answered, still glaring daggers at Qui-Gon. "Cannon-fodder would not help here." He shook his head. "Even Mace Windu would be no match – due to its nature, Form VII can be exploited and overpowered with the Dark side. Other than Qui-Gon and myself, the only one skilled enough to stand even a chance – _if_ you are lucky, and _if_ Sidious has no tricks I am unaware of – is yo– " He stopped, whipping around to glare wide eyed at the Jedi. "No."

"Aid Qui-Gon, I will." 

Qui-Gon looked strange – neither hurt nor grateful, but some odd emotion in between. "Master Yoda..."

"NO. You may be more skilled in dueling than Qui-Gon, but you have _no_ defense against the Darkness that Sidious can bring to bear. He will fight you with a weapon you cannot even fucking _see_."

Yoda glared right back at Venge. "Then teach me to see it."

"Do not be absurd! The best – the only real way to face Sidious is if you can _use_ the Dark side.”

Yoda was already shaking his head. "Already asked Qui-Gon to teach me, I have. Run from this battle, I will not.”

“Master Yoda, you must realize what you’re asking.” Qui-Gon’s eyes were wide and shocked, his face even paler than before. “What you’re suggesting—using the Dark side—Master Yoda, you would _Fall_.”

“Know this, I do. My choice this is, and small sacrifice I would count it, if it helps us defeat Sidious. Try, we at least must."

“There is no ‘try,’ remember?” Venge sneered.

“Then do, we will,” Yoda said serenely.

The Sith looked from him, to Qui-Gon and back again. Yoda knew he was maintaining an air of calm acceptance, and Qui-Gon's rage was tightly leashed with determination. "Mad. You are both fucking mad. _You will not be enough._ Sidious will...damn it. Gods fucking _damn it_." The man sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. "I will help." He moved his hands to scowl fiercely at them. "Do NOT thank me."

Yoda nodded, and moved on to the next order of business. "Tell Mace I will, in case we fail. But allow Qui-Gon to face Sidious alone, I will not." He got a small, grateful smile from the former Jedi, and an evil look from Venge.

" ...You are all...gods FUCKING DAMN IT."

He slammed a hand down on the device on the table, shoving past Qui-Gon to stalk over to the Besalisk in a cook's apron. "Dex, we need to rent a room." He glared. "Shielded, one where it will not matter if there are explosions."

* * *

The shielded room was clearly meant for clandestine meetings of small groups. Even with the small, low table pushed to one side, there was enough space at least five humanoids to sit comfortably.

This of course meant that Venge prowled around his two seated allies like an ill-tempered gundark.

Qui-Gon felt unreal, not quite sure that this was not some Force fueled dream – nightmare? Yoda had – they were here, and Yoda had sworn to help. Yoda had agreed to Fall; that thought alone was almost enough to make him call the whole thing off. He didn’t though, because it was the last piece in the perfect storm of circumstances that meant he could finally avenge his Padawan, the bright young Jedi whose dark reflection paced around them as if they were to be his lunch.

"I am about to give you a crash course,” Venge said, gaze fixed on Yoda. “This is neither comprehensive nor completely safe, and the _only_ reason I am willing to do this is because we are short on time and you are Yoda." Qui-Gon didn't have to fight hard to keep from smiling. This was all too serious. "The first challenge will to be defeat Sidious. He may not look like it, but he is a master duelist. I am the one best able to handle anything Dark that Sidious throws at us, so I will take point. Master Yoda, you will be second on blade-work, and Jinn, you watch our backs and fill in as needed.”

“The second, more difficult challenge will come after we kill the bastard."

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows, startled. That was not what he had expected to hear. Even Yoda's ears quirked at this bit of news, and Venge's prowl became even more predatory. "Sidious can manipulate spirits. That includes his own. When we kill him, make his body unable to hold his essence, he will move to find someone else to inhabit, taking them over and using them as a vessel, and then we are all totally fucked."

Yoda bit back some kind of oath in who knew what language, and Qui-Gon felt himself go pale. He had never heard of such a perversion of the Force. Even all his time with Dooku hadn't prepared him for _that_.

It was suddenly clear why Venge had not wanted any part of this. Somehow, Qui-Gon had attributed Venge’s refusal to cowardice, if he thought about it at all. With a sinking heart, Qui-Gon wondered if this truly was suicide.

“I will pin Sidious’ spirit,” Venge continued, his expression grim. “You both will need to focus on destroying it. If I am…unavailable to hold Sidious in place,” Venge looked at Qui-Gon, “ _you_ will need to do it.”

“Me?” Qui-Gon asked, startled. He was no novice, but of the three of them, he knew himself to be the least powerful.

“Master Yoda is determined,” Venge nodded at the small Master, “and experienced, and strong, but you,” Venge looked back at Qui-Gon. “ _You_ are obsessed. And that is what the technique I will teach you taps into.

“Even if I am available to constrain Sidious, I will need to focus on that, and destroying him will fall to you both. To destroy a spirit you must rip it apart, tear the very essence of the being to shreds. This is a technique you both need to learn; it should not be too difficult to master, especially as the main component is the sheer amount of rage your pour into it," Venge concluded with a bloodthirsty smile.

The smile fell from his face though, when he saw Yoda’s wide-eyed, shocked expression. “Master Yoda,” Venge said as he kneeled in front of the small Master, his voice as gentle as Qui-Gon had yet heard it. “This is a Dark technique. It is brutal and deadly, and has no Light applications. If you yourself are Dark, it will remove some of your…hesitation. But not all. If you do not think you can do this, do not make us help you Fall for no reason.” 

Yoda took a deep breath. "Another way to stop Sidious, there is?" 

“Not that I know of.”

"Necessary, this is, if we wish to succeed?"

" _Very_."

"Mmhm." Yoda closed his eyes for a moment, then glanced from Qui-Gon to Venge. "Twisted by the Sith, all of Coruscant is. Follow, the Republic will?” Venge nodded. "Then do this we must, and I shall, gladly." 

When Qui-Gon winced, Yoda sent him a reproving look, softened with a small smile. "Jedi in name, or Jedi in purpose, it matters not. The Force we follow, and in good company I shall be." Yoda straightened as much as he could as he faced Venge. "How do we begin?"

The older, darker Obi-Wan looked away, visibly uncomfortable. "The first thing you must do to use this or any other major Dark technique, such as Force Lightning, in a way that is even close to safe for you, is to be Attached. To…love." He looked as if the word was being dragged out of him. "Always remember why you use such a technique. Never use it frivolously. They are the last resorts in your arsenal.” 

Venge took a deep breath, and Qui-Gon was surprised by the stab of both sympathy and pain he felt. They had not had a favorable trip to Coruscant, barely talking other than to discuss theory or Sidious' potential tricks. Even so the two men had grated on each other’s nerves like Huttese opera. It hurt, seeing Obi-Wan as he might have become, Darkened and angry and brutal. This was clearly not _his_ Obi-Wan, an earnest young Padawan who wanted to be the best possible Jedi he could be.

It was also strangely reassuring at that moment, even stuck as they were in a small room that muffled the Force around them, planning death and Darkness and mayhem. Here was a Dark side user – proficient, deadly, terrifying – but not evil.

It meant that Qui-Gon himself might not be evil, no matter how tainted by the Dark side he was.

He wasn't sure if his thoughts had alerted Venge, or if the man was just uncanny that way. His yellow eyes were focused on Qui-Gon. "As a last resort, be certain that it is not hatred fueling it, nor any of the much Darker emotions. Protective anger, concern for loved ones - these are powerful sources." Venge sent that wry, biting grin his way. "Qui-Gon has that aspect down cold."

He blinked, and then blushed. Yoda, at least, made no comment.

Venge hadn't been quite as caustic as he was before, and Qui-Gon had no idea what to do with that. This was Obi-Wan – _an_ Obi-Wan, even if not the man he’d known. Somehow, Venge simply acknowledged that Qui-Gon had loved Obi-Wan. Venge was not angry about it – no more than he was angry about anything else, at least – and he wasn't disgusted. The Sith acted as if Qui-Gon’s feelings were...fine. Safe? Normal? _Reasonable?_

Thankfully, Venge turned back to Yoda. “This will be difficult for you. Do it anyway. I need you to name four or five people you would die for. As you choose each name, acknowledge the Attachment and allow it to take root – the deeper the better. Remember, not ideals or institutions, but _people_.”

“Specific names, you require?” Yoda frowned, and Qui-Gon could feel the slight eddies of unease coming from the Grand Master. Centuries of belief about the evils of Attachment were not so easily overcome, it seemed.

“Fuck, yes,” Venge scowled. “Attachment prioritizes, that’s how it _works_. I do not require a comprehensive list, but I am asking for an accurate one. Only when you value others’ lives and happiness over the power to bend the universe to your desires, will the Dark be anything other than a death trap.”

Yoda was still frowning, but he nodded slowly. “A moment, please.” The small Master sat down and closed his eyes, breathing deeply as his unease calmed.

“But Obi-Wan is dead.” Qui-Gon’s quiet words to Venge were as much question as statement.

“He is,” Venge replied, also keeping his voice low. “Mere death does not remove love, and Attachment always works best when it is returned in kind. Your actions stem from love, though distorted by pain.” 

Qui-Gon wanted to protest, but looking back, he realized that Venge was right.  As constant a companion as the Dark side had become, so had Obi-Wan’s memory, directing Qui-Gon’s rage against those who had taken his padawan from him. He had no illusions about his obsession, yet that was the very thing, the last bit of Light, that had kept him somewhat sane through months and years of Darkness. 

“Qui-Gon.” At first Qui-Gon thought Yoda was calling for his attention, but after a moment he realized that _his_ was the first name Yoda had chosen for his list.

“No, that’s– Master Yoda, that’s not…logical,” Qui-Gon objected. He wasn’t even a Jedi anymore, and five years as an Apprentice had hardly left his hands clean of blood.

“Attachment does not need to be logical,” Venge said dryly. 

Yoda nodded. “Mace, and Yaddle,” he continued, then glanced slyly at their instructor. “Venge.”

Venge narrowed his eyes. “If this is a joke, it is a poor one.”

Yoda shook his head. “Joking I am not. An ally, you are – good, brave, and loyal; risk so very much for us, you do. Glad I would be, to call you friend.”

“I am a _Sith_ , damn you!” Venge’s anger was clear in the burn of his eyes, but Yoda refused to budge.

“Logical, Attachment does not need to be, hmm?”

Qui-Gon turned a laugh into a cough, his heart lifting in delight for perhaps the first time in years.

“Fine. Do as you will.” Still scowling, Venge gave his head a sharp shake, dismissing the issue.

"Now: think about Sidious, and all the evil he has woven into Coruscant. Consider how he has blinded the entire Order to the dangers it faces. Feel the anger that comes from that, and hold it. Do _not_ release it."

They spent almost an hour trying to rile Yoda. Discouragingly, it didn't seem possible, at least not to the point that they needed. Venge had finally stormed out of the room with some impressive invective, snarling that they'd try again after a fucking break.

Yoda had gone to the diner proper, but Qui-Gon was nibbling around the edges of an unsavory notion. He retired to the small room next to their practice area and settled himself as if for meditation.

He was not about to even try. Instead, he went looking for darker memories.

* * *

"Apprentice." Qui-Gon had known Dooku was lurking about, watching him practice. Today he was combining sword work with the Darker arts, crushing spare droid parts and tossing them about the room in sync with his blade-work.

"Master." He nodded back, starting his kata over from the beginning. Dooku called out a few adjustments, helpful and encouraging as the cold bastard could be, and the ache inside Qui-Gon quieted, going from a snarling beast to a tired, sad longing. For a little while, it almost seemed like the old days spent in the Jedi Temple as Dooku's Padawan.

Qui-Gon spun and compacted a droid's helmet into scrap, which he then hurled across the room to shatter against the wall. The Darkness coiled closer to his heart. He tossed the growing fury into the rest of his kata, not letting it go to the Force as he used to, but cautiously pulling it in, nurturing it, letting the power it provided slide back out to destroy, and destroy, and _destroy._

He finished smoothly, flicking off his lightsaber and turned to his old Master with a patient look. If one expressed an interest in Dooku’s opinion, one would be waiting a damn long time for it.

His Master was watching him with pursed lips and a small frown. "You're holding back," he tutted. Qui-Gon could already feel his shoulder muscles tense at the disapproving tone, pulling him straighter and more like a soldier at parade rest. "You aren't touching the Dark side as much as I thought you'd been learning to do."

"I am learning at a pace I find comfortable, Master," Qui-Gon murmured. "I prefer to know that I understand the techniques before I combine them."

For that he got a raised eyebrow, then a narrow-eyed look of consideration. "I think it is time I teach you a new technique. It's been too long since our last lesson."

He bowed his head and stood patiently, as he had not been able to do as a Padawan. "There's no need. I've still not mastered the– "

"This will boost your access to the Dark side; it will make those other things easier." He saw Qui-Gon's hesitant look, and the Count's expression slid to solicitous concern. "Surely you want more power, more control?"

He had to acknowledge that point with a tilt of his head, and Dooku looked closely at him. "You are reluctant, my Apprentice. Why do you keep hesitating? You have seen what the Dark side has to offer. Are you sure you are as committed to this path as you led me to believe?"

Qui-Gon could remember his own padawans, and their hesitance to learn some of the more complicated skills. He had had to coax them along much the same way, and they had been the better for it. Qui-Gon bowed his head. "Master."

Dooku gave him a fond smile and stepped forward, bringing his hands up to rest his fingertips a little past Qui-Gon's temples. They stood that way for a moment, and then the Darkness roared.

He screamed; he knew he screamed even though he could not hear it over the sound of the rushing power thundering around him. He could feel his throat go raw as he arched back, dimly aware of Dooku's hands remaining on his head.

His master had lowered his shields and let the Darkness roam free, a thunderous mammoth beast of hate and fury and petty grievances blown far out of proportion. For a moment, Qui-Gon could almost see into his Master's mind, his memories. As much as he longed for access to specific secrets, he could still not find the identity of the Sith at the top of the food chain that he was currently dangling from.

Then the Darkness moved, now prowling around him and through him, wrapping tight around his heart and bones. He could almost feel it the way he had on Naboo. His vision of Dooku's mind was replaced by the sight of Obi-Wan collapsing to the floor, with that damned Zabrak smiling triumphantly at Qui-Gon.

He screamed again, this time in rage and hate and that horrid longing he tried so hard to hide deep in his heart. He could hear it, could hear his Master's delighted laugh as Qui-Gon reached out with the power he'd just commanded to himself and _tamed_ the wildness roaring about him, calling it to heel like a droid, commanding it into place.

It muttered and growled, subsiding until the entire room pulsed underneath his hand, a sulky creature not thoroughly tamed, merely waiting.

But, it waited upon _him_. He was breathing in slow, ragged sobs, drenched in sweat and on his knees before Dooku, who looked immeasurably pleased.

"Well done, Apprentice." He turned on his heel and stalked out, radiating smugness under the faint blood-ringed yellow glow of his eyes.

Qui-Gon lowered his head to gasp for breath, slowly letting the Darkness spread back through Dooku's hold, a nigh-sentient, invisible fog permeating the stone. After some time – he could not have said how long – he staggered to his feet, weaving down the empty corridors like a desperate drunk. He shoved the door to his quarters open, stumbling inside and slamming the door shut. The room was dark – it was night outside, but it had been afternoon when Dooku had arrived.

 _Force, how long_ –

Qui-Gon shook off the thought, realizing that his whole body was shivering, his muscles quaking intermittently, as if they too wanted to escape, to flee this miserable planetoid as quickly as possible. He wanted to get to the 'fresher, to toss some water on his face and steady himself on the sink, but he didn't dare.

He couldn't. He moved like an old, old man to the center of his sitting area, dropping down awkwardly into a cross-legged position, and tried to let himself meditate as he had not been able to in a while.

As often happened, he had no luck.

He could feel it, throbbing in time with his pulse – the lick and flare of crimson-bounded yellow blazing from his eyes like a bonfire, instead of the soft, occasional glow he'd experienced so far. He could feel it clinging to him, suffusing him and tainting his eyes as if they truly were windows to what little remained of his soul.

For a while, he just breathed. Fuck meditation. He breathed.

When his body was finally somewhat under his control, Qui-Gon stood, slow and stiff. He went over to the desk and pulled out the small com he had hidden in the back. He took another breath, made sure that the visuals were most assuredly not turned on, and began talking.

He listened to the hoarse words rolling off his tongue, a soft litany of Dooku's latest crimes and plans and machinations. It was a soothing mantra, a balm to the burning of his eyes.

Fallen past redemption or no, Jedi or no, it didn't matter. It didn't matter if only Yoda thought there was anything good left in him. He could still do this, for the Jedi who had tossed him out, for those left behind and alive.

In this moment, sending Yoda reports, gathering intel for the Republic, that was something good he could do. In this moment, it was his will, his decision. That was what mattered.

* * *

Qui-Gon opened his eyes in the small room next to the shielded practice area. He could feel the memory of a shiver working its way down his spine, and he ruthlessly squashed it. That was then, a lifetime of nightmares ago. Here and now, he flowed to his feet and turned towards the door.

Venge would overwhelm anything and everything in the area if he unshielded as Dooku had done. Without the ability to lessen the strength of his Darkness, attempting the kind of saturation called for by Dooku’s technique would leave the student insane…or worse.

Having been on the receiving end of it, however, Qui-Gon thought he had a reasonable grasp on how it was done. He needed to talk to Yoda.

Qui-Gon felt as if he shouldn't be surprised to find Yoda sitting at the counter, sampling a pickled gartro egg. He sat down on the next stool over and waved off a waitress. "I have an idea,” he informed Yoda quietly, picking his words carefully now that they had no guarantee of privacy. “It's probably dangerous and it requires practices that I really, really hated when they were used on me."

"But solve the problem, it will?"

"I have hopes that it might." Yoda gestured for Qui-Gon to share what he knew, and he ended up whispering the details as Yoda watched the door. Yoda was silent for a bit. The small Master was either pondering the possibilities, or– 

The door jangled open long enough for some kind of urchin to glance in, meet Yoda's eyes, and wave. Yoda nodded and waved back, sending a small set of credits floating across to a grimy hand.

As the door clanged shut, Qui-Gon gave him a curious look. Yoda was trying for a serene smile, but for once it was not very believable. "A messenger I needed, and delivered the message was." He hopped down off the stool. "Come, come; our teacher we must speak to!"

Qui-Gon could not recall seeing Yoda look as grieved as he did at that moment, no matter how the diminutive Master tried to cover it.

Venge was waiting in the shielded room, and unsurprisingly, he exploded at the proposal. "I applaud your ingenuity, _really_ I do, but what you're talking about is typically _evil_. Involuntary conversion or madness – fantastic idea. What the _fuck_ are you thinking?!"

"Little time we have, and fewer options to choose from." Yoda blinked up at Venge solemnly, even as Qui-Gon was struggling to maintain his composure. "If fail, our plan does, strong enough to eliminate me, you are." Venge went ashen as the amber to his eyes flared nova-bright. He recovered quickly, his glower becoming dire as he glared at them. Qui-Gon was surprised to find they didn't spontaneously combust just from the fury of that look. Yoda paused, then lowered his head. "Sorry I am, to place such a burden on you." 

"Fucking. Insane. Every last one of you. I _hate_ this fucking reality." Venge grimaced. "Fine! On your heads be it!" He retreated to the wall and slouched against it, arms crossed and furious glare firmly in place.

Qui-Gon moved before he could think better of this plan, settling cross-legged upon the floor. Yoda sat across from him.

"Prepare yourself, Master," he said quietly. "This will not be easy." Venge's derisive snort was not confidence-inspiring.

The two closed their eyes at the same moment, and Qui-Gon reached inside. He could feel the flare of Dark energy light up his eyes as he gathered himself, keeping a tight rein on his power.

Qui-Gon opened Sith-colored eyes and reached out, resting his fingertips on Yoda's temples. He could feel tiny muscles jump a little underneath his touch, reacting to the Darkness moving inside Qui-Gon.  Shame flashed through him, but he kept that fear and doubt well away from the Darkness he was harnessing.

After a few moments, when Qui-Gon thought Yoda was as well-acclimatized to the flow of Darkness as he could be, Qui-Gon allowed it to increase outside of his personal shields, letting the leash slip a few inches out of his tight hold. Yoda's teeth showed briefly in a small snarl, but aside from that, there was no evidence of any progress. Another moment, and then Qui-Gon let the reins slip a little more. This time, Yoda visibly twitched, and the process of smoothing his expression was much slower.

Qui-Gon could see why Dooku hadn't bothered being slow or careful. Never mind that he thought Qui-Gon was expendable; going cautiously _burned_ , taking all of his control and a discipline that his old Master seemed to have discarded.

This time, when Qui-Gon unleashed more Darkness, he directed it instead of letting it swarm through the air to saturate the room. He began to weave it into Yoda, directing the power through the pathways the Jedi was already familiar with, gently inducing the Dark side of the Force where only the Light had been for so long. It took effort and fine control to not let it rampage free through every nerve and synapse and bone and muscle.

Yoda's face contorted with a pained grunt, but he did not pull away. He retained the expression, lips moving occasionally in a little snarl.

"One more," Qui-Gon said hoarsely, his own turmoil now feeding the Darkness in the air around them. "Then you must bring it to heel."

"Hn!" Yoda grunted, incapable of more coherent speech, yet still not pulling away. Qui-Gon was painfully aware of how Venge was now poised, shimmering within his own Dark power, ready to pounce and restrain – well, who knew how this could go pear-shaped, really? He took one more look at his Master's Master, and then closed his eyes and let his Darkness roar.

Yoda let out a rasping gasp, body going still and rigid. The Darkness paced like an enraged beast through the room, swirling around them, battering clothes every which way and making hair rise on end. Venge gave his own snarl, and Qui-Gon could feel the man's far greater power flex, prepared for the worst and ready to make a deadly dive in any direction.

 _No. It's not going to work_ , Qui-Gon thought in despair. Yoda wasn't falling to the Darkness, but he couldn't seem to get a grip on it, either. So much time in the Light had left the Jedi Master a stranger to darker emotions. The winds stormed faster, harder, and all Qui-Gon could think of was how the small Master would sound, screaming as the Darkness overtook him, _Qui-Gon_ hurting him and sending the pain Dooku had inflicted on him back to his friend. He could feel tears – real tears, not wind whipped responses – flying across his cheeks. Beneath his light touch, Yoda shook in agony. A moment more, and he'd have to stop. He could not, he _would_ not do that, no matter how Fallen he was, they would have to find another way–

The Darkness in the air wrenched away from Qui-Gon, brought to heel as beautifully as Qui-Gon had ever felt it. It was gracefully done, leaving him swaying to the side as the winds that had been buffeting him upright folded into a small, tidy coil that spun into itself, a resting, waiting Darkness well in hand.

Qui-Gon slumped in relief and blinked his eyes open. He and Venge were waiting, watching…hoping.

Then Yoda opened his eyes, which were shining a pure, clear amber. He took a deep breath, relaxing his muscles, and then he looked at Qui-Gon. "Well done, Padawan of my Padawan," he rumbled, voice echoing with a power his grand-padawan had never heard before. 

Yoda looked over at Venge. "Now, I am ready."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we start earning our rating, please to be aware that there's violence and lightsabers starting in this chapter.
> 
> Given that, this chapter is brought to you by [Fall Out Boy's Light 'Em Up](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DPVLoFTDKU), since that's Norcumi's head music for Venge battles.
> 
> Eternal thanks be to Flamethrower, who is not only letting us play with Venge but gleefully encouraging us, all the while wrangling wild adverbs, throwing hydrospanners in the works, and sharing glorious, encyclopedic levels of knowledge. Thank you for being so thoroughly awesome!

Mace Windu watched the Jedi Council stream into the room, whispering nervously to each other and giving him strange looks. He let them – they not only had the right, but best they get it out of their collective system now.

He’d never before needed to use the emergency com summons, bringing first the Council, then every available Jedi on Coruscant back to the Temple. He felt he had grounds for the chaos this was making, though. He wanted to know where everyone was while they tried to unwind this mess.

He waited until there was a majority, and then he stood.

“I need to share some... strange news with you all. I would wait until we were all present, but given the nature of the news I bear and– ” He couldn’t help but to grimace, “and the fact that I was not alone when I received it, I think it best to simply present the facts as quickly as possible.”

By this point, Mace had both their attention and their silence. He reached out and started the message he’d received, sitting back down in his chair as the image of Yoda appeared before the collective Jedi.

The old Jedi was calm, composed, and looking directly at the recorder. His face was sad, but resolute; this was not the expression of someone who was anything but set upon a hard path. “To the Jedi Order, greetings. Abrupt, I realize this is, yet necessary it is also. From the Jedi council, I must resign. The naming of my successor, in the Council’s capable hands, I place.” He could hear a few gasps, but those silenced quickly. “With a heavy heart, but for the good of the Order, must I also announce my resignation from the Jedi Order itself. Regret the need for this, I do. Miss you all, I will. May the Force be with you.”

Mace made it to a mental count of six before the Council Chamber exploded into noise. He sat back and let it wash over him, trying not to frown at legitimate concerns and baffled demands for more information. He’d felt much the same way when he’d played the message – and more the fool he, he’d been in a public hallway at the time. Mace had been meditating in one of the gardens when an absolutely confounded Jedi Guardian approached him with a scruffy street urchin well in hand. Typical of Yoda, the youngling insisted it had “a message for ‘Master Mace Widu’ an’ I hafta give it right to him the little green man said so!”

Mace had paid the urchin off, and as it was escorted away, he’d headed back to his offices. The message, straight from the little urchin’s hands, had been a set of holograms, one of them meant to be more secure, but neither had been marked ‘urgent’ or ‘sensitive.’ He didn’t think to check his surroundings, and to satisfy his curiosity, he’d simply played the message as he was walking. He’d shut it off the instant he realized what it was, but the word “resign” still echoed through the hallway. At least several passing initiates and a pair of horrified padawans had taken to their heels and started to spread word far and wide. He imagined that by now, at least half the Order knew that one of its oldest and most beloved members…had quit.

There was no way _anyone_ could figure out what to do with that.

Worse, _far_ worse, however, had been a second message, keyed to him and him alone. He’d run with Force enhanced speed back to his office, propriety be damned, shutting and locking his door. He’d given himself a little time to regain some kind of calm, but had started the second recording with a great deal of trepidation.

The contrast between the two messages was startling. Here Yoda stood with head bent, ears askance as only a great deal of emotional upset could leave him. Then he looked up and faced the recorder. Something was clearly very, _very_ wrong. “Mace. Old friend. Do this, I would not, if there were another way. I am sorry. There is no time, but ask you to trust me, I do. This _must_ be done, and there is no other way. Please, trust me.”

Such a small, short message, to have torn down so many supports to Mace’s world. He could not recall seeing Yoda so quickly to the point, so earnest about... whatever it was that called to him. There was no polish to it; it was clearly neither rehearsed nor coerced.

Master Yoda was involved in something very big, very bad, and Mace was the one who would have to face the fallout – without Yoda.

Apparently, his first trial was to wrangle the Council. When everyone started repeating themselves – including two late arrivals – he stood again. “Enough! Master Yoda has clearly made a decision, and we must respect his wishes!” _Please, please, let them not be his last wishes!_ “Are we Jedi, or are we politicians? I am just as confused by these events as you are, but we do not dictate the life choices of our members, even if that includes them deciding to walk another path!”

“But it’s _Yoda_!” someone plaintively called, and Mace worked very hard not to identify who.

“I understand. However, we must listen to his request. There is precedent, and we must calmly consider what is going on.” There was damn little calm or consideration, but he stuck it out as best he could, keenly aware that he was the last pillar of Jedi serenity.

Admittedly, upon nearing two hours of pointless blathering and concern, he was fed up with the Council. There was yet another plea for more information – as if they had any idea where to get it – when the Force erupted into bizarre activity.

The Dark side suddenly blossomed, powerful beyond their worst imaginings, swirling and clashing not too far distant. The entire body raced to the window, gaping at the innocuous night sky, dominated by the Senate Dome.

Mace could hear someone snapping out orders, to lock down the Temple, making sure that the Crèche and padawans were safe, as they and every second battle-ready Jedi they encountered were heading to the Senate, _now_.

He was a little surprised that it was his voice calmly calling out the battle plan, but in some ways it was a relief. He might not know what to do about Yoda, but at least this Darkness he could deal with. That was what Jedi did.

* * *

The night was alive, and very Dark. Yoda found it difficult to keep still. The world outside their rented hovercar somehow seemed so much more vibrant than normal. It was not that the Dark side called to him to vent in violence and destruction. No, it was that the Dark side of the Force chafed, _wanted_ , would demand if he let it, whereas the Light side had simply always existed. It was almost like being a little drunk, working to keep his balance instead of sitting peacefully, perfectly at ease.

Even breathing felt different, as if he wanted to breathe deeper, to pass the energy moving through him in and out, faster, stronger. The Dark side kept stretching. He found it challenging, but by this point not distracting.

It worried the old Master a little, that he could so easily maintain his connection to the Darker side of the Force. However, he was not about to let go of it, most certainly not after what they’d gone through to _get_ that connection in the first place. His determination, the horror of the Dark Veil all around them, and his anger on Qui-Gon’s behalf – the Jedi that perhaps he could save, the man who had suffered under Yoda’s padawan – it burned bright and clear inside. Unlike the Light side, which needed no tending, this much more vibrant energy needed constant fuel, but could not be overfed, or it would become a wildfire consuming him.

A very, very distant part of him was concerned that this balancing act felt _fun_. He wanted to pace, to stretch, to _spar._ Every time he glanced over at Qui-Gon, a sensation bubbled up inside of wanting to test his skills on a worthy opponent, and he hadn’t been that reckless, that ridiculous, in centuries.

Venge had noticed Yoda’s restlessness as they’d left the diner and piled into the vehicle, ruefully sharing a look of understanding. His grumbled advice that Yoda would ‘get used to it’ was neither helpful nor reassuring, however. Yoda could see in the Sith’s posture the same hunger for the hunt that he himself now felt.

Yoda pulled his hood up as they approached the Senate building, still lit at this late hour, but almost empty.

They had their prey. The hunt had started.

* * *

The guards let them in without any difficulty. On the one hand, Qui-Gon was grateful. On the other hand, there were now four Darksiders in the Senate building, including a Sith Master, a Sith Lord, and a Sith Apprentice, and the guards didn’t have a damned clue. Why did the Senate even bother to have guards? They were worse than useless, was Qui-Gon’s disgusted opinion.

It all felt like a rotten sham; the formerly robust heart of the Republic withered into shadows of a civilization. He hated that he could not feel the Darkness increase – surely if they were walking into the belly of the beast, it should be more oppressive? They should feel the corruption oozing through the walls, it should drip from the light fixtures –

Perhaps Venge had a point about melodrama and spending too much time with Dooku.

It was the slight billow of a brown Jedi cloak that caught Qui-Gon’s attention, standing out amongst all the finery that the scurrying Senate flunkies deemed appropriate. He glanced over and did a slight double take.

“Detour. Now,” he snapped, taking a sharp turn.

“You take me to all the best places,” Venge mocked quietly. “He’s down there.”

“I know.” He still had to bite back the rage, fight his fury to keep his eyes from going incandescent. “But over here is a spare blade – moreover, a witness. Adi!”

* * *

Jedi Master Adi Gallia adjusted her cloak, trying to juggle that and her com unit, which was _still_ beeping from what seemed to be an endless stream of absolutely urgent messages from every last Jedi on the planet. They all wanted her to contact them, to confirm _something_. Mace had sent out an emergency call summoning the entire Council before that, which meant her familial visit had had to be cut short.

Either the Republic was falling, or Mace had one hell of a hangnail. Whatever was going on, this was clearly not the best time to have gone to the Senate to visit family. She’d set her com unit to silent, only to find out a couple of hours after the fact that _something_ had exploded out of control. She finally shoved the com into a pouch with a muttered curse. Force help her, she was never turning that thing silent ever again. Also, if one more _politician_ tried to stop and sweet talk her for who knew _what_ favor now, she was going to absolutely –

“Adi!”

Her head whipped around and it took her a moment to believe what she was seeing. Qui-Gon? _Qui-Gon Jinn?_ He was striding her way across the large Senate entrance hall, dressed like a Jedi, but all in black, from cloak to boots. For all his status as a disgraced member of the Order, he held his head high, and even sported a lightsaber at his hip. To his left was a humanoid figure dressed in customary Jedi garb in tans and browns, hood drawn low enough to cover most of their face, walking with a predatory stride. On Jinn’s right –

She stared, not knowing what to make of what she was seeing. _Yoda_ paced alongside him with his hood up, something she hadn’t seen him do in long ages. The old Master was moving with a lightness she hadn’t ever witnessed in him, cane stabbing down purposefully with each step. The three were moving at a reasonable clip, cloaks billowing out slightly behind them. The Force swirled around them so strangely that even Yoda's usual calm presence felt different, agitated.

They were upon her before she could overcome her astonishment. Qui-Gon gently caught her arm. “Come with us. We need a reputable Jedi to vouch for us.”

“What are you– why would–”

The cloaked humanoid snorted even as he and Yoda closed ranks behind her, the four of them moving back the way she'd come, further into the Senate building. “This is a bad idea, Jinn. Bringing Jedi to this fight will only result in dead Jedi.”

Wait, wasn’t he a Jedi? If he wasn’t, then Master Yoda was here, and you’d be hard pressed to find a more reputable Jedi than him. She shook her head and dug her heels in a bit. “Qui-Gon, what fight? What are you doing here?”

He kept moving, gentle but unstoppable. “I found the Master. I know where the Sith is.”

She stumbled a little before righting herself and matching pace with them. She had never felt comfortable with the vote to oust Jinn – the man had been _suffering_ , and Force take it, he’d just downed the boogieman every crècheling feared at the cost of his padawan’s life. He’d needed time with the mindhealers, not exile. The fact that so many of the others had taken a lack of an identifiable body to mean that there was no Sith, that what Qui-Gon had heard about a Master was all hot air? Preposterous. _Blind_.

“Then why are you taking this to the Senate? This is a Jedi matter. I know you might think we –”

“No, that’s not it.” His eyes were hard, brutal, those of a man gladly walking to a death he would embrace, so long as it smothered his opponent in the process.

 _No. Oh, Qui-Gon, no_.  “What – you can’t mean – someone in the _Senate_? But Jedi are in and out of here all the time, a Sith couldn't possibly hide– ”

“Please.” The cloaked man’s voice dripped with scorn. “How blind are you?”

She glanced over to see he’d lifted his head just enough to let her see his eyes.

His glowing, Sith-yellow eyes.

Adi sucked in a shocked breath, and went for her lightsaber.

“Adi, no!” Qui-Gon hissed, grabbing her arm and glancing around. The corridor was empty, but he still moved closer, blocking her from drawing her blade and getting between the two. “He’s with us, he's an ally!”

“He’s a Sith!” Adi hissed back, fighting back the terror of old stories beating against her ribs. She couldn’t feel the man in the Force; _that_ was the oddity she hadn’t been able to put a finger on! He might as well not have been there. Little _gods,_ that was not possible!

“Good of you to notice,” the man drawled, lowering his head again.

Qui-Gon had the look of the last adult in the crèche during a long holiday. “I swear he’s with us. We know what we're doing.” She could swear the hooded Sith rolled his eyes at that. “And you.” The two men exchanged glares. “Stop making things difficult.”

“This was difficult _long_ before I showed up. Get a fucking move on, already. ”

The Qui-Gon she remembered would have held the glare a little longer, not giving ground right away. This one nodded, a fierce light in his eyes as he turned away – _turned his back to the Sith_ – and resumed walking.

“Adi, listen. I'm bringing you along so that the Jedi have a reliable witness as to what’s about to happen. Would I do that if I didn’t think our actions will stand up to scrutiny?” Qui-Gon’s eyes flicked around the place, as if he were searching for spies or checking the shadows for monsters.

When she didn’t answer, the cloaked Sith apparently felt the need for a verbal jab. “I suppose she could be useful keeping the rank and file off our backs during the fight, too.”

To her astonishment, Qui-Gon nodded. “That, too. The primary purpose, however, is to be able to tell someone—the Council, whoever, if we fail.”

Adi was not used to being treated like a lackey, and a fairly incompetent one at that. “You're so certain I'm going to go along with this?”

“Yes,” both Jinn and the Sith chorused.

The Sith gave her a thoughtful look, if she was judging the angle of his hood correctly. “Just remember, Master Gallia. Do not approach us while we fight. You will not be of help. If we fall, better that you run.”

“I am a Jedi Master,” she declared icily, trying to glare at him and ignore that the hallway was getting wider, the doors rarer, as they approached the heart of the Senate building. “A member of the Jedi High Council –”

It was a small hand on her leg that cut her off. She looked down to see Master Yoda, still scampering along with them at a speed that could _not_ be comfortable for him. Yet he kept pace readily enough, though not once did he look up at her.  “Promise me, you must, that you will run.”

“Master Yoda, what –”

“Promise! Please.” Adi blinked and paused, staring at the small master who seemed to be glaring up at her from underneath his hood. She’d never heard him sound like that – fierce, without the tremble of age in his voice.

She was very, very disturbed.

In the end, it was only the slightest tremble of… _something else_ in his voice on the last plea – a request, not an order – that had her reluctantly nodding.

Then they turned the corner, and they were at the end of the long corridor that led to the High Chancellor’s offices.

 _No!_ Adi staggered, not quite willing to believe the obvious conclusion.

The Sith brushed past her, tossing his cloak aside to reveal a blond human with a fierce face and those horrible eyes; someone she could swear she recognized. Yoda let his cane clatter to the floor and blurred with Force enhanced speed, pulling away from her with a grace she didn’t realize he still possessed.

Her belated sprint at least kept her apace with Qui-Gon, the two of them bursting through the doorway moments after the other two. The Sith had lunged across Chancellor Palpatine’s desk, a – _blue_? – lightsaber sweeping through the Chancellor’s sleeve, leaving the stink of a saber-grazed arm though the room.

With Force-enhanced speed like that, there was no way Palpatine should have been alive. Yet somehow, he had spun aside with the speed of an experienced Force-user, swirling around and bringing his hand forward. When the Sith's blade cut towards Palpatine again, it crackled against the blood-red blade the Chancellor now held. Master Yoda tossed his cloak aside and lit his weapon; Qui-Gon _shoved_ the Force against the still thunderstruck guards bracketing the entryway.

“Guard the door!” Qui-Gon barked, pulling the lightsaber from his belt and igniting it, the crimson blade shining against his now red and yellow glowing eyes.

Adi couldn’t move. It was not because of Qui-Gon, now clearly and truly Fallen, circling the fray. Nor was it the strange Sith with his blue blade and ferocious snarl, locked in deadly combat with the Chancellor. It wasn’t even the Chancellor, who radiated hate and evil, and whose skin had gone sallow and desiccated, his entire being warped from what had to be extended, extensive use of the Dark.

No, it was Yoda, bounding around his two allies, green blade flashing and cracking against almost miraculous blocks of red, moving with a speed and agility that was almost unbelievable. Yoda, who practically flew around the room, rebounding from blocked blows to leap from wall to ceiling to dart once again at the Chancellor, speeding in as the blond Sith spun away.

Yoda, whose eyes burned with the bright amber of Dark energy.

Adi could feel her breath flooding out of her. She fell back, as if wounded, to brace herself against the doorframe.

Yoda had Fallen.

With a thoroughly sick, sinking sensation, she realized what Mace’s frenzied summons had been about.

Someone – she had no idea who – triggered the Chancellor’s dais. The senate pod rose up from the center of the room as the ceiling irised open. Palpatine didn’t bother waiting for it; he leapt to the rising pod and then flung himself into the air, landing on one of the lower tier of Senate platforms. Another bound sent him higher up, with the blond Sith and Yoda hot on his heels.

Qui-Gon latched on to the rising dais, crimson and yellow eyes locked on the combat above, and quickly lifted out of sight.

For a moment, Adi could almost breathe normally.

Then she heard booted feet pounding down the corridor towards the office. She cursed and spun, slamming the door shut and driving her lightsaber into the control panel.

Adi raced over to the Chancellor’s desk, squashing the urge to gag as the echoes of Darkness writhed over her. She scanned the master control panel tucked on the side and ruthlessly pounded the buttons, closing and locking the Senate Chamber’s main access-ways with thick blast doors. Locking down as much of the building as possible should at least slow down any interference.

Palpatine was _Evil_ , the likes of which she had never even imagined in her worst nightmares. Qui-Gon and – the others might think she was merely an incompetent lackey, but she was Jedi.

This monster _had_ to be stopped.

Adi darted over to the support pillar, scrabbling up and then shoving against it to propel herself over to lift herself up over the lip of the floor.

She was at the bottom of the Senate chamber, the sphere arcing up around her with individual platforms rising up into the darkness. Palpatine, Yoda, and the Sith were blurs of motion, distinguished only by their glowing blades. They bounded throughout the chamber,the clash of lightsabers going too fast for even her trained eyes to track. Qui-Gon was working his way up the pods, gracefully leaping higher and higher as he summoned detritus and pod parts to fling towards the Chancellor.

For a moment, Adi was sure they had the Chancellor cornered, falling back as far as he could go. Then a sweeping gesture from Palpatine ripped dozens of platforms free, shooting through the air in all directions. She had a moment to see Qui-Gon somersaulting over a hurtling disc that would have removed one half of his body from the rest, when she realized where several of those pods were headed.

Adi dove left, barely clearing the metal spinning overhead. She landed poorly, rolling to the side only to see another platform heading for her. She reached out, calling on the Force to smash it away, right into another platform that might have clipped her as it landed.

The pod right behind them, however, kept coming straight at her.

While she was still scrambling to bring the Force to bear once more, the pod shuddered and careened left, flying away to smash duracrete in every direction. Qui-Gon leapt off of it right before it landed, hitting the ground in a crouch near her.

“Stay further back, we can’t afford to protect you!” he yelled at her. His blood-colored lightsaber flashed as he spun away and bounded back upwards, slicing through pods as he sent smaller, pointier pieces of seared metal flying up towards the furiously leaping combatants.

The Force stirred sluggishly behind Adi, from the other side of one of the pod doors, followed by a muffled but all too-human curse. Some of the Senate guards had taken the initiative and were trying to get into the Senate chamber. The blast doors she’d activated from Palpatine’s office were holding them, but not for long. Even as she turned, they managed to pry the doors open enough to fit a blaster through.

No. Not while she lived! She raised her lightsaber and charged them, determined to give the others whatever chance they needed to stop Palpatine.

* * *

Distantly, Qui-Gon could hear a new battle erupt down on the Senate floor, Adi’s lightsaber against what sounded like blasters. He wished her luck, and almost found himself praying to the Force to watch over her. The rest of his attention was concentrated on making Sidious’s life as complicated as possible.

Yoda had always been known as an expert duelist, but Qui-Gon had no idea that the small Master had _this_ level of skill. He seemed to be everywhere at once, blurring as his lightsaber darted and slashed in streaks of green. Venge fought like a child’s story of a demon brought to life, fierce and relentless and unstoppable, Dark power channeling through his blade like nothing Qui-Gon had ever seen. Even in the midst of battle, Qui-Gon could not bite back pride at what his Padwan was doing, fighting with the skill and precision of a very skilled Master.

Rage thundered on the heels of that pride, lending speed and power to Qui-Gon. This was what Obi-Wan could have been. Obi-Wan's murderer was _here,_ and Palpatine would die.

Yet for all that, Sidious was matching them, and all around was the subtle, rising pound of _wrong, wrong, wrong_ in the air that Venge had warned them of.

Qui-Gon saw it happen, a disastrous moment as the Sith Lord flipped away from the melee. When he landed, Sidious raised a hand and drew Darkness from nowhere, a well of vile power that vomited into the air and lashed out towards Venge as the Force shrieked in agony around it.

Qui-Gon knew that he himself could not have avoided the attack, yet Venge managed it, dancing aside with impossible speed, before throwing himself at Sidious, lightsaber flashing. Whatever horror the Chancellor had unleashed continued to grow on its own above the fighting, without any attention from the Sith Lord.

Sidious blocked the blow, then twisted his blade around Venge’s, ducking down into a lunge. The blow should have sliced Venge in half, but he curled away at the last moment so that it skimmed along his side instead, cutting underneath his ribs.

Qui-Gon heard screaming. He could smell burning flesh. He might have been the one screaming. He was running towards the Sith, the fucking bastard who looked up and gave him that damned fang-toothed grin and that fucking Zabrak was going to die and this time it. Would. _Stick!_

Memory slipped back into reality. The twisted mockery of the Chancellor raised one clawed hand, and sent a blast of Force lightning shooting into Venge.

Obi-Wan screamed as it blasted him off the platform, sending him over the rim towards another pod. Sidious turned just in time to block Yoda’s descending blade, the two exchanging snarls above their crossed lightsabers.

Qui-Gon charged in from the other side, white rage narrowing his focus to crystal clarity. The two of them made the Sith Lord spin and twirl in increasingly complicated patterns. Yoda misjudged a blow, and Sidious had the split second he needed to twist out of range and put the Jedi Master between him and Qui-Gon. Sidious’s face twisted into a sneer as he slashed his hand up, sending Yoda slamming into a pod further down. Qui-Gon knew he absolutely could not afford to let up, and a large part of him cared only for the monster’s death. He tried to exploit Sidious’s momentary distraction, driving in towards the Sith’s unprotected flank.

The crash of lightsabers slamming into each other came with a feral snarl, and Sidious knocked him backwards. Qui-Gon called upon the Force, flipping himself around so that he landed on his feet, already reaching out to summon one of the bodies near a still-battling Adi. He sent the corpse flying at the Sith, who solved the problem by slicing it in half, only to receive a diced section of pod following a moment later. Sidious hissed and swatted it away, the Force sending a shower of viscera back at Qui-Gon. The Sith Master gestured again; Qui-Gon tumbled back towards the edge of the platform. Only by stabbing his lightsaber into the metal was he able to keep from going into the air, instead clinging to the hilt as the blade dug a molten furrow through the base of the pod. For a moment, he was staring through that gap to the Senate floor below. Then he looked up.

Qui-Gon could not breathe. For the first time, he saw the whole of the horror Sidious had summoned.

The air itself had ripped apart in what felt like a larger, uglier version of the Force disturbance that had heralded Venge’s arrival. The Force screamed as the monstrosity tore reality into scorched atoms and ozone, separating – or maybe inverting – to reveal mind-distorting shapes and colors, an abomination that hung above their heads and spewed a storm of sheer, unnatural power. The shrieking, warping anomaly hovered against the side of the Senate chamber, disintegrating whatever it touched into scorched nothingness. Weaving and coiling, it twisted into obscene, eye-twisting shapes – and it was growing.

“Look at you, pretending to have some notion of the Dark side. You have betrayed your precious Jedi ideals, and for what?” Sidious looked up, smiling upon his creation and cackling, a mad and twisted sound. “And now you die, upstart Apprentice!” He started to laugh again, only to pause.

“ _What_? ” The Chancellor's head whipped around, and Qui-Gon followed the motion.

 _Thank you, Force!_ Venge was still alive, though looking much worse for wear. The injured Sith had pushed himself up on one arm, the other ineffectively wrapped around his wounded torso. His teeth were grit tight, eyes narrowed to yellow slits as he glared up at the swirling maelstrom above, which had stopped growing.

“Impossible!” Sidious howled, pulling back and raising his hands. “ _What are you?_ ” More lightning danced along his fingertips and arced out towards Venge, who seemed unaware of anything but the monstrosity he’d fixed his attention on.

The electricity crackled forward, only to be blocked as Yoda leapt in between Venge and Sidious. Yoda had disengaged his blade and was catching the lightning in his hands. Somehow, impossibly, he was holding his ground, the amber of his eyes flaring with a fierce conviction.

Qui-Gon switched his lightsaber off, twirling it round and igniting it to bring the now freed blade to bear on the distracted Sith. Once again, Sidious turned just enough to dodge, bringing a hand forward to shove him aside. The Force sent Qui-Gon staggering wide and barely able to hold his weapon. That turned out to be a hidden blessing as the Sith’s blade raked down his leg a moment later, a little too far for serious damage but leaving a scorching trail of pain down his thigh.

He turned to see Yoda leaping back into the fray. Without the lightning, and just a hint off-balance from trying to remove Qui-Gon’s leg, Sidious had extended a little too far. His grip on his weapon was too loose, his arm damaged just enough from Venge's very first blow.

Yoda made a beautiful surgical strike, removing several fingers and smashing Palpatine’s lightsaber away. A Force push sent the lightsaber tumbling down into the depths of the Senate. Palpatine screamed, a sound of rage and hate instead of pain, and he whirled towards Yoda.

Qui-Gon braced himself, ignoring the damage to his leg, and lunged. Sidious’s battle-sense must have warned him; he tried to turn back, his eyes glaring untold wrath at the Fallen Jedi.

Qui-Gon could feel the hate speeding his actions, twisting his face. There was a savage joy of knowing that he was the last thing the Sith Lord saw, as Qui-Gon's red lightsaber burned through his throat and spine.

He skidded to a messy stop with a victorious shout, darkly jubilant. He turned to see the look of shock on Sidious’s warped face as it reached the ground. The headless body crumpled next to it.

* * *

Adi had seen one of the guards go flying upwards, but she was a little busy defending against the last set of droids that had been part of a security force foolish enough, or brave enough, to break into the Senate chamber. She twisted past another wild blaster shot and slashed her lightsaber through the arm of one, the torso of the second, and then she swirled the blade back to bisect the first. They collapsed into scrap, and she finally had room to breathe.

She turned to face the battle behind her, and gaped. She had felt the gathering Darkness, the Force somehow scraping open upon itself in something she had no words for, barely any comprehension of. Through sheer necessity, she’d managed to ignore it while she was fighting, but now the growing Darkness sent her back from the sense of hatred and filth that washed out from it. She was a Master Jedi, her abilities and understanding of the Force enough to gain her a seat on the Council, but even she would not have been able to walk unbowed into the heart of the battle unfolding before her. No Jedi would have.

The Chancellor was poised no more than ten meters away on a Senate pod, facing the wounded Sith and –

“Force!” she whispered as _lightning_ crackled through the air towards the blond Sith, and to compound the madness _Yoda_ leapt in front of it, _catching_ it, _blocking_ the Dark energy. Sudden comprehension flashed through her. No Jedi could have fought this battle, not even Yoda. Except that he could, now. He, and Qui-Gon with his sulfur-yellow eyes, and their Sith ally, whose presence burned with pure, brutal ferocity. Dark to fight a Darkness that would swallow and corrupt any Jedi it could grasp.

Qui-Gon lunged at Palpatine, who blocked, and in a whirl of combat, he and Yoda hammered at the Dark Chancellor. She saw Yoda remove the red lightsaber from Palpatine’s hand. She silently cheered as Qui-Gon roared in, eyes blazing Sith-yellow, and then the Darkness lessened as the Chancellor’s head separated from his body.

The last of the horrific eyesore still skirled above, but she could feel its power lessening bit by bit, collapsing in on itself, as the blond Sith hobbled from the platform he was on. He was injured, perhaps badly, but seemed determined to join Qui-Gon and Yoda. Adi wasn’t sure why; after all, the threat was gone, Palaptine was dead–

The explosion knocked Jinn and Yoda off their feet. A pillar of incandescent blue and white energy thundered up from the Chancellor’s body, barely contained to a howling column by the Force, channeled by the blond human. The man knelt on a Senate pod, hands outstretched and cupped, face twisted into a grimace of hate and fury. The energy squalled upwards, searing though the dome until it splashed up against the roof, then through it.

As the sheets of energy flickered out, Qui-Gon and Yoda stiffly got to their feet. They exchanged looks and possibly words with the other man, who was listing forward, hunched around his wound. Twitching upright, the blond Sith snapped something at the other two.

The Darkness resurged, greater than before. Adi almost collapsed into a protective huddle, needing a moment to gather her strength before she could bear the weight of something she could only call “evil.”

The Fallen didn’t even seem to notice. Qui-Gon, face contorting with rage, was already reaching towards what seemed like nothing more than the empty air above the Chancellor’s body. Yoda took the time to levitate the blond Sith over to them. The injured man collapsed to his knees, then glared at the same spot Jinn was focusing on, reaching with red-smeared hands as if to grab something.

Above Palpatine’s body, something started to take shape.

Adi had never felt such _hate_ in her entire existence.

* * *

Mace battered aside the Senate guard, inwardly wincing at the man’s pained grunt. The hastily gathered Jedi had had to fight their way into the building – why was it locked down? No one seemed to have any idea, and within minutes everyone seemed to think it was because of the “invading Jedi.” Once inside, it was clear where they had to go. The heart of the place roiled with Darkness. Paradoxically, the Force was the clearest he’d encountered in years.

They were somewhere in the middle of the building when the Force seemed to explode, sending some of the more junior Jedi to their knees. Mace and several of the Council members pulled ahead, leaving orders to make sure the injured were seen to.

They still had to fight their way forward, pressing closer to the heart of the building. The blast doors had all been closed, including the one leading to the Chancellor’s office, but lightsabers made quick work of it. Mace led the charge through the ruins of the doorframe, and skidded to a halt. The lift to the senate platform was elevated, though the opening was partially blocked by the ruins of another pod. A flattened and very dead guard’s body leaked blood as it hung from the rim.

 _Something_ horrific was higher up, in the Senate chamber proper. Mace vaulted upwards, dodging past the corpse, only to come to a swift halt.

Adi Gallia spun around, battered and clearly having seen some serious combat. She relaxed some upon spotting him, and disengaged her lightsaber.

Mace was _far_ more concerned with the spectacle behind and above her. He barely heard the other Jedi came up through the floor’s opening. Horrified, he fought the urge to gag at the mixture of hate, twisted pleasure, and abject, gibbering fear clawing at him. The Darkness and psychic filth spewed from a pod bracketed by Qui-Gon Jinn and another human, both wounded, both radiating vicious hate and killing intent. Between them, also focused on the source of the Darkness, was Yoda, looking as if he were meditating for strength.

The three seemed to be braced against a growing, shadowy figure coalescing out of the Darkness, a monstrous, twisted figure somehow reminiscent of the Chancellor. The blond human was reaching out, both hands raised as if he were Force lifting something unbelievably heavy. Mace could feel the Dark energies he was channeling, marking the unknown human as a proficient Dark user, probably a Sith.

The energies swirled around the ghostly figure like a net, ensnaring and pinning it in place. The _thing_ lashed out and screamed, horrific howls that seeped into Mace’s spirit with icy threats of death and destruction, of Darkness atrocious and vile and everlasting. Mace knew he couldn’t make out half the sounds, and he was glad of it.

The apparition twisted and lunged for the blond Sith, clawed fingers driving like spikes towards the Sith’s red-soaked abdomen. There was only the smallest flinch in reaction, but that seemed to be enough. The phantom slipped free, somehow finding a point of escape from the blond Sith's grasp. With a snarl and a blast of unmitigated rage that burned in Mace’s Force-sense even from across the Senate chamber, the living Sith channeled power with reckless, terrifying abandon as he rewove the Force in an attempt to recapture the creature.

Meanwhile, Qui-Gon Jinn _howled_ , clawing sharply at thin air as if he were ripping at flesh. The Force flexed in a new pattern as a misty black fragment of the figure shredded away, dissipating as it separated from the whole. The apparition screeched and turned on Jinn, lunging at the former Jedi. As the blond Sith fought to keep the creature away from Jinn, Yoda reached out with both clawed hands, mimicking Jinn’s rending gesture.

Mace felt only the Dark side of the Force from the platform as Yoda tore a part of the misty being’s essence away. The creature howled and lunged towards Yoda. The old Jedi bared his teeth at it before Yoda’s eyes snapped open in a sharp glare, revealing that the Order’s most venerable member had glowing, yellow eyes.

“No,” Mace whispered, hearing assorted oaths from behind him as more Jedi swarmed into the room.

Adi stepped forward, hesitating as Mace raised his lightsaber. “This is absolutely not what it looks like.”

“That the Sith corrupted Yoda in order to gain his help summoning that _thing_? ” He flicked the tip of his blade the spectacle involving Yoda.

Adi’s glare was almost indignant. “ _That_ _thing_ was a Sith Lord – the Sith _Master_! Yoda, Qui-Gon, and their ally destroyed the most horrible source of Darkness I think we will ever see, and it's _still not dead!_ ”

Mace blanched and looked back at the trio and the rising specter. Yoda _glared_ in a way Mace had never witnessed before, a brutal fierceness to him as he slashed more ethereal fragments away. Qui-Gon Jinn was snarling, hands still clenched into claws as he used the Force to continue to rip bits and pieces of the ghostly monster free. The blond Sith was locked in place, straining to pin the malevolent apparition, and the longer this took, the more the man radiated menace and Darkness. Even that paled in comparison to the growing awfulness that looked like a ghost of the Chancellor.

The phantom was looking increasingly solid even as Jinn and Yoda tore at it, an ugly transparent black and sallow figure that snarled and raged at its three captors. Every time Jinn or Yoda wrenched bits of it free, it would howl and curse and spin about, trying to face or rush them. The Sith would pin or contain it, and the monstrous creature would shrink a little bit more. Even watching was torture, and it seemed to go on forever.

The apparition began to scream in earnest as it started to distort, more and more bits of it plucked apart, leaving tattered wisps of dirty smoke trailing away. The whole figure was now expanding, losing cohesion, becoming more and more insubstantial while its shrieks of fury rang through the whole Senate.

“ _DIE, Jedi!_ ” it seemed to screech, a curse of endless hate curtailed by the three figures surrounding it. Finally, at long last, it dispersed into curls of the Force that warped in upon themselves, shedding more and more fragments of misty self until the air was empty and still.

The sudden silence was almost deafening.

The Sith on the platform, now the beacon of the Dark side, slumped down with what sounded like a muttered obscenity. Jinn moved to catch him, break the fall, while Yoda swayed and looked ancient. The gathered Jedi, even the Council members, hesitated, looked to Mace, as if to ask if they were really expected to go anywhere near that rancor’s nest of Dark energy. Mace raised a hand, motioning them back, and disengaged his lightsaber.

The walk to the trio was excruciating, as difficult as some of the Vaapad’s most tortuous maneuvers. Mace felt as if he were walking into a swamp of Darkness, becoming enveloped more and more with the slime and filth that carried faint echoes of the horrific monster’s screams.

He could only imagine what it had been like with those horrors at their peak.

They met him halfway; Yoda lowering himself via the Force, Jinn supporting his friend. Mace lifted his chin to give Jinn a glare, and damned if the man didn’t return it. He looked horrible, as if the Dark side were eating him away from the inside, but there was the old Jinn defiance radiating from him. “If you wish to blame someone, this is my fault,” the fallen Jedi declared dryly. “I will not fight you if you feel the need to pass judgment upon me again.”

“Fuck you, Jinn.” Mace blinked and stared at the haggard Sith, who was only upright because Qui-Gon held him there. The man swatted at Jinn – missing by a klik – and glared. “Tha’ counts ‘s reckless. I di’ _not_ jus’ help you kill tha’ fucker so you c’n throw y’r life away to th’ fuckin’ Jedi. ”

Qui-Gon looked _torn_ , not meeting either the man’s eyes or Mace’s. 

“We _won_ you fuckin’ moron,” the blond Sith slurred, exhausted to the point of passing out. “Sidious ‘s dead, never gon’ kill anyone’s  padawan ever again. Fuck you.”

Yoda gave a tired harrumph. “Ill put, that is, but true. Stand with him on this I do.”

Jinn looked like he just realized he’d taken a massive body wound, stunned and bewildered, and now it was probably only the Sith he supported that kept _him_ upright, by virtue of being too angry and dangerous to squish. He glanced between the two before he looked over at Mace. The man's chin lifted, but this time there was some strange, quiet grace to it instead of stubbornness in defeat.  “I appear to be outvoted. Please, Master Windu. Let us pass.”

“A hard day’s work, we have done.” Yoda moved closer to Mace, looking up at him with eyes that only a Sith could have. “Evil we have triumphed over.”

“Have you?” Mace didn’t really mean to project, to make his statements clear to the Jedi behind him, yet somehow it happened. “Have you really triumphed over it? Was it worth it, Yoda?” He glared, wishing that the old troll would respond, flinch, anything other than look at him with serene exhaustion. “Was this –” and Mace gestured towards the three Dark users – “truly worth it, Falling, all for the sake of one death, tearing apart that thing?”

Yoda held his eyes for a long moment, then deliberately turned to look at the remains of the Chancellor’s body before turning to face Mace again, glancing past Mace’s shoulder to the assembled Jedi. “Yes.” He met set after set of eyes. “Darth Sidious, this was. Responsible for clouding the Force on Coruscant, he was. Responsible for wars and death and Darkness, he was. Sought to destroy the Republic, he did.” He straightened and stood as tall as he ever could. “Stop him, someone needed to.” Then his eyes swept back to Mace. “His death tonight, the only one was not. Sometimes, a price must be paid. Chosen to pay it, I have.”

His message echoed in Mace’s head, not by the Force but only memory. _Do this, I would not, if there were another way. I am sorry. There is no time, but ask you to trust me, I must. This must be done, and there is no other way. Please, trust me_.

Force help him, Mace wanted to. “You owe me a much better explanation than that,” he hissed, keeping it between them for the moment. “I have no idea what we’re going to do with this, and it looks to be the biggest mess I have _ever_ seen. ”

“Sorry, I am.”

They held gazes for a moment. At last, Mace stood aside. He had felt that...that _thing_ that looked like the Chancellor. In the end, this was still Yoda, still his old friend who had pleaded for trust, who stood there as if quite ready to be –

The thought was horrific. As if he were ready, and accepting that the Jedi Order might turn on him, might run him though right there on the Senate floor.

He could not. Mace Windu...simply could not. He gestured for the Jedi to part. “Leave.” His voice echoed around the chamber. “Get off this planet, and do not let us find you here again.” He glared around, waiting for any single being to counter him, but instead they parted, leaving a clear path back to the Chancellor’s office.

Yoda walked forward first, old and clearly in pain, yet somehow seeming all the more Jedi than he ever had before. Mace knew, could feel from the collected Order their confusion, see some of the tears, as Yoda’s presence in the Force did not leak Darkness, no matter how polluted his aura was – instead, love, care, and _protectiveness_ seemed to come from him.

Adi, Force take it, was the first one he passed. She knelt before the old Master, reaching out to touch palms with him as he walked by, and his ears tilted as he bowed his head back to her.

Then Jinn stalked past, clearly concerned only for his almost unconscious comrade, his movements angry yet somehow gentle as he maneuvered the battered Sith – who was feeling disturbingly less Dark than he had before – along the path. The Jedi watched in silence as the three slipped down into the Chancellor’s quarters, and they looked to Mace.

He had no idea what the hell to do next.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from Norcumi: I think what we've learned from this chapter is to never trust my predictions on when the next chapter will be. I am not at all accurate on that front. My apologies, and I'll try to keep a better eye on what to expect.
> 
> As always, many many thanks to Flamethrower for word wrangling. Hugs and chocolate to Lynati for opinions, commentary, and the best Dooku observation Norcumi has ever cackled over.

Qui-Gon staggered onto Dooku’s small ship, still supporting Venge. Yoda hobbled along after them, an exhausted presence in the Force. The old Master had finally released his hold on the Dark side some time during their nearly frantic drive to the spaceport.

Qui-Gon still couldn’t believe they’d all survived. After assisting Venge into a small bacta tank, he managed to shoo Yoda off to the main quarters. He went through the take-off protocols, still numb and somewhat in shock. It wasn’t until they were away from Coruscant proper that he slumped back in the pilot’s seat, staring blankly out the front viewport.

He had no idea what to do now.

Where would they go?

“Away” from Coruscant was as good an option as any, so for the moment he aimed away from civilized space, set the auto-pilot, and shoved the chair back out of range of the controls.

Sidious – Chancellor Palpatine – was dead. Finally, finally, years too late and so many deaths after it was moot, Qui-Gon and his allies had cleansed the galaxy.

He stared down, feeling bewildered and hollow. He hadn’t expected to feel _better_ after killing the Dark master, but a part of him apparently still believed he should be a corpse on the Senate floor.

He hadn’t planned on surviving.

Worse, he hadn’t planned on Venge or Yoda.

He was hardened to combat. He’d spent four years living in Darkness with Dooku.

Venge...had not been willing to give him up to the Jedi. Nor had Yoda. They had all been on the last dregs of their energy, and both had been willing to fight for him. _That_ made his hands shake, his injured leg throb, his whole body curl forward.

They...they _cared._ He struggled to keep from weeping, trying to recall the last time he’d had someone to count on, rely upon, and Naboo was the most recent instance that came to mind. He’d forgotten how good it felt to not be alone.

For all that, he knew he didn’t deserve it.

The shrieking com was, frankly, a relief. He forced himself upright and slapped the button, only to recoil slightly from the image of Count Dooku glaring at him.

“Apprentice,” Dooku growled, radiating Darkness even over the holo interface. “What do you think you have done?”

“Master?” The reply was automatic, regardless of how much he hated the man.

“I find it _most_ disconcerting that every single news channel in the civilized galaxy shows your face, and the death of Sidious! _What do you think you are doing?”_

So strange. He’d fought for so long, working countless months to try to get that name, to get his Master to give him the identity of the monster he was determined to destroy at all costs.

Qui-Gon felt so weary. “I thought that was what the Sith did,” he remarked as mildly as he could. “An Apprentice trains their secret Apprentice, and then they kill the Master.”

“ _I am your Master!_ ” The count’s thunderous roar shook the cabin, even as the image of Dooku began to pace back and forth. “And do not think that I am unaware of your co-conspirators!” He stopped abruptly and spun, sending his cloak flaring out.

 _Venge is right. He_ is _ridiculously melodramatic._

“How did you get _Yoda_ to Fall?” Before Qui-Gon could formulate any coherent answer, Dooku glared at him, and his eyes flashed yellow. “ _ANSWER ME._ ”

The words seared through him, some connection through the Force blasting through any hesitation he had, any control he had, as his body turned like a puppet to face the com. “I talked to him.” His voice was mild, almost mocking, and distantly he was relieved that he had not lost complete control to Dooku’s – suggestion? How could Force suggestion _possibly_ work at this distance? It was too far away, never mind that Qui-Gon was hardly the type to be susceptible in the first place –

Dooku snarled and gestured imperiously. “Explain, Apprentice!”

He could feel something _flex_ inside his mind, a braided strand of the Force goading his mouth into opening, and he was shocked to hear himself speaking. He told his Master of philosophy and the greater good, of how showing Yoda the Dark Veil over Coruscant had affected the old Jedi. Since his Master clearly thought it was mostly twaddle, and was only listening with half an ear, Qui-Gon focused his energies inwards.

 _There_. There was a bond between himself and Dooku, a connection of both the Light side and the Dark. It seemed as if the Light connection had formed from their old training bond – never very strong, but now with wider roots and planted deeper in his mind. The Dark connection was of similar construction, but newer, fiercer, and twined along the path of the training bond.

No, it _was_ another training bond, that of a Sith Master to his Apprentice. Qui-Gon shoved away a chill as irrelevant, unimportant.

“What of the other Sith? Who is that? A Hand?”

That made less sense than usual. “He says his name is Venge,” Qui-Gon declared, beyond grateful that the man had been so insistent that he was not Obi-Wan. From the way Dooku sneered, the Count believed his own pet theories to be correct.

“Where is he now?”

“Taking a long dip in bacta. He’ll probably be at least twenty more hours before he’s ready to emerge.”

“This whole farce was his idea, I suppose?” Thank the Force, that seemed to be rhetorical. Dooku was pacing again, speaking before the Force suggestion could compel an answer from him. “Bring them here. Tell them nothing! Incapacitate Yoda if you can.” He paused and glowered at Qui-Gon. “And do remember, Apprentice. You. Are. _Mine_.”

The com broke connection, and agony burned along the training bonds, setting every part of his being on fire. He was caught, immobilized, forced to sit still and silent as his Master’s ire raged through him.

It felt like hours, but it was probably mere minutes. During that time, he reached with the Force to ruthlessly trim the connection, using the pain as a focus to find all the small roots. By the time the pain came to an abrupt stop, there were only the most tenuous connections left.

He gripped the edges of the chair, working hard to breathe normally.

He had support. Venge might not be available – and damned if he’d cut the man’s time healing short – but he was not alone. He slowly stood, swaying for a moment, and then headed to the med bay. He needed a bacta pack, then a long conversation with Yoda.

* * *

Judging by the exhaustion dragging at him, Yoda was certain it had not been long since he’d collapsed into an oversized bunk. He was awake only because the Force was prodding at him, coaxing his mind from sleep. He spent a little while blinking at the wall of the shuttle’s stateroom, trying to collect his thoughts.

Ah. Yes. He shut his eyes again, feeling bruised all over – not far from the truth. It had been a long time since he’d pushed himself as far as he had. Yoda curled tighter around a ridiculously fluffy pillow, feeling every joint and injury from the most taxing battle in his extensive memory. He was sure that memory was at least a little bit faulty, but for the moment his almost-sleeping mind was content to ignore facts

There was a growing sense of discontent, restless frustration in the room with him. He reached out with the Force, then relaxed slightly and opened his eyes again.

“A few hours, it has been?”

“A few,” Qui-Gon allowed, his voice...odd. Yoda sat up quickly, biting back a groan.

Something was very wrong.

Qui-Gon sat very, very still in the room’s sole chair, which he’d moved to the furthest corner. His posture was rigid, his hands on his thighs, and there was a bacta pack poorly strapped over the nasty wound to his leg. It was the sloppiest dressing he’d seen in ages, something that would hinder the man the instant he stood up, and everything here was quite unlike Qui-Gon.

“Trouble, there is,” he declared flatly.

The human inclined his head, but Yoda was more concerned with the way his hands twitched, fingers flexing minutely as if Yoda’s voice had done something strange. “All right, you are?”

“Not in the least.”

Well. At least they were consistent. He sat up, giving the pillow a reluctant pat. There was business to attend to.

Qui-Gon seemed to be fighting...something, as he met Yoda’s eyes. “Did you know training bonds are tricky things?” His eyes were shadowed, yellowed without fully touching the Dark side. “I never knew they were more than a way to keep an eye on one’s Padawan.”

Yoda’s eyes went wide. As far as he’d known, that _was_ all they were – mental connections of varying strengths, allowing a Master to communicate through the Force and locate the being on the other end. It was a training tool, useful to convey knowledge, particularly between those who did not have strong mental voices. Nothing more.

 _Dooku_. His heart sometimes felt so heavy, so old. His last padawan had been so foolish, and he had never seen it. “Indeed. A useful tool, I have always thought.”

Qui-Gon hummed in vague agreement. “Do you think that’s a tool the Dark side uses as well? I suppose if we’re going to be using the Dark side, we might as well learn how to use it well, and safely.”

“...thought about this, I had not,” Yoda admitted, reaching for the Force. The effort was slow, painful, and futile.

Blast. He couldn’t find the Dark again. It was clear he needed more rest, and it was equally obvious he wasn’t going to get it soon. He shook his head a bit to clear it, ears lowering in frustration. “The worst idea I’ve heard, that is not. Trouble I seem to have with finding the Dark side again.”

The human blinked, then snorted out part of a laugh. “Well. I don’t know if that makes anything better or worse.” Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head, relaxing minutely. “Perhaps a training bond of some sorts would be a good idea. If you would?”

Yoda was almost certain Qui-Gon didn’t mean it the way he wanted to hear it, but that was just too bad. Training bonds, at least, he was well practiced at. It was simple to reach out, find the man’s presence in the Force and connect with it on a different level, drawing fine strands of power between them. He gently attached those strands to both of them, leaving a light flow of the Force between the two roots, and then he opened his eyes.

No, Qui-Gon had not meant it that way. He was gaping at the old Master. “That – you – Why does it feel like I’m on the teaching end of this?”

He couldn’t help it. Yoda tossed his head back and laughed, perhaps a little giddy from exhaustion and the delightful consternation he felt through the bond. “Told you, I did, that learn from you I must. Not quite the normal bond this is, but for now the teacher you are.”

Qui-Gon groaned and put his face in his hand. “Master, this is not something I need right now.”

Yoda harrumphed. “A different connection is called for here. Your bond to a student is strong, but that to a teacher is not, hmm?”

It was well worth it to feel the astonishment from the human, who looked up slowly, relief writ large across his face. “Indeed,” he whispered. “That was...surprisingly subversive of you.”

“A compliment, I take that as.” Yoda was _trying_ not to be too smug. He was neither ignorant, nor deaf. Venge’s winning argument to get them clear of the Senate was that there would be no more dead padawans. Qui-Gon occasionally had very obvious weak spots.

After a long moment of staring at him, Qui-Gon closed his eyes. Yoda could feel the Force _flex_ in the room, as the human tested something. Already the bond was a familiar presence, like an old friend pressed close and watching over one’s shoulder. Then Qui-Gon smiled. “Very subversive, and just what I needed.” He opened yellow eyes, and Yoda caught the almost instinctive urge to flinch.

Awkwardly enough, he could tell that Qui-Gon could feel his apprehension. For all that, the mental presence placed an insubstantial hand upon his shoulder in reassurance, appreciation for the fact that Yoda had caught the urge before it was expressed.

It had been a long time since he had felt something like this. He was used to being the teacher, not the student. It was surprising how gratifying it felt to be on the other side of the bond.

“It also means I don’t have to break the connections to Dooku just yet.”

“Connections? More than one?” His ears lifted in curiosity.

“A Dark one, and...the Light one. I am both his Padawan, and his Apprentice.”

Oh, Force. Yoda hadn’t thought – “Consequences of this, there are?”

Qui-Gon’s smile was rueful. “Thanks to you, I will be a little slow to react if he tries to command me again. If the commands have anything to do with you, it will not just be slow.”

Ah. That explained the posture. His heart felt heavy again. “Kill me, he wished you to?”

Qui-Gon’s eyes blazed vibrant yellow, and he snarled, the bond conveying a brutally fierce protectiveness. “No, thankfully. He merely wants me to incapacitate you. We’re headed back to his main sanctuary, and he believes me to be on a very short leash.” He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders and looking like he was trying to force himself to relax. “Venge is still going to be in the bacta when we arrive, so it’s just us.”

He could feel the rightness through the bond, and he agreed. His student, Qui-Gon’s master – if they were lucky, they could rescue one more soul from the Dark.

* * *

Dooku paced in his study, keenly aware of his Apprentice’s arrival.

This was not how his day should have been proceeding.

Yes, Sidious’ slow pace, the gradual accumulation of power had chafed. Yet the audacity of it, the grand scope – that could only be admired. Tearing down a Republic that was over twenty-five thousand years old, to get them to surrender their power to a single man, a single _Sith –_ now that was ambitious.

Yet now his master was dead.

It was not as if he were about to shed tears over the man; it was that this sent all their plans into disarray. The Separatist movement was an almost inevitable juggernaut now, a monster that would careen through the galaxy and tear the Republic asunder. It would weaken the Jedi, spread their numbers thin and claim the lives of those most dedicated to preserving outdated, stagnant structures.

Yet Sidious would no longer be in place to reap those benefits, to gather the newly freed threads of power to himself, and in the meantime Dooku was firmly placed in the role of the villain, a figurehead to rail against. Given the new state of affairs, that was not the place he wanted to be.

The Force told him of Qui-Gon and Yoda’s approach, so he was standing behind his desk when they arrived. Pity that Yoda was neither constrained nor unconscious, but one must make do. He did give his Apprentice an arch look, and damned if the man didn’t give him a nonchalant little shoulder lift in return.

Dooku refused to stand for such cheek. He sent power through the training bond to his Apprentice, holding the impertinent man’s body still for the time it took to apply a different Force suggestion, for Qui-Gon to feel _pain_ from top to toe. He kept it applied for a few good seconds before releasing first the suggestion, then the hold.

His Apprentice was at least not fool enough to let it show.

“Master Yoda. What brings you to my humble abode?”

His old master crossed his hands atop the gimer stick. “Sidious’s death.”

That was far blunter than he expected. “What _did_ my Apprentice tell you to encourage you to Fall, Master?” Dooku murmured, making sure it was loud enough to be heard.

Yoda, unsurprisingly, just harrumphed. “Spoke of the Dark side, he did. How of the Force, it is.”

“You yourself said as much to me in my youth. There must have been something else. The third member of your party had some say, perhaps?”

Something unusual darkened Yoda’s eyes. “Your concern, that is not.”

“He is using one of my bacta tanks, I rather think it is.”

“Master Dooku – ”

“Silence, Apprentice. Let your elders speak.” His glare made it clear that Qui-Gon would be facing more of the same treatment later. If he could not even be relied upon to deal with Yoda, a Yoda who clearly _trusted_ him…Pfah. Useless. Given the new state of the universe, that which was more dross than gold had to be discarded. The thought of teaching Yoda in the ways of the Sith was rather appealing.

Dooku turned back to Yoda. “So, my old Master. You were saying?”

“Saying, I was not.” Yoda’s gaze was strange. Penetrating, _challenging_ in a way that Dooku had never seen. He took rather a great deal of satisfaction in turning the old Jedi’s tactics against him, by raising a single brow and giving him a slow, almost condescending look. Patience in the face of impertinence.

Yoda’s snort indicated he was not very impressed – again, there was an uncharacteristic bluntness. After another odd moment, he relented. “Needed to die, Sidious did.”

“Yes, but I had hoped to consolidate more power before taking care of that.”

Yoda held his eyes. “So sorry I am to have disrupted your plans. Recover somehow, you shall.”

That rankled more than it should. “And I presume you have plans for how I should do that?” Damn. He hadn’t meant to sound so...irritable. Yoda always did bring out the worst in him.

“Plans? Say that I would not. A request, however, hmm, yes, a request I have.”

“This is bound to be charming. Say on, my Master.” Dooku couldn’t help himself, crossing his arms and leaning back against his desk. He was still well-positioned to draw his lightsaber, and the distance between them gave him plenty of room to attack or defend.

“Pull back from the Dark side, you must.”

Dooku didn’t bother to stop his bark of laughter. “Your sense of humor has improved. You, having just Fallen, telling _me_ I need to turn back to the Light side of the Force? How senile have you gone?”

“Not so much,” Yoda allowed. “And turn back I did not say.”

Dooku blinked, reconsidering. “That makes even less sense.”

Yoda sighed and looked away. “Complicated, things have become.”

“As they always do.” Dooku gave them both a disdainful look – they had no idea how horrific a mess they’d made of things by their insane, rash actions. “What of you, Apprentice? Do you also wish me to ‘pull back’ from the Dark side, whatever that means?”

Qui-Gon drew himself up, dignified and composed. At least he’d learned some things about diplomacy over the years. “Yes. You’ve fully gone to the Dark side. I...understand your wish to continue exploring non-traditional avenues of Force use, but –” He took a deep breath and met Dooku’s eyes. “Not this way.” It was a quiet, determined statement. “You go too far, you seem willing to sacrifice anyone and anything, and that cannot stand. We do not think that the Jedi are any more right than the Sith. There _must_ be another way, a middle path. Step back from the Darkness, and walk it with us.”

For a moment, all he could do was stare. Qui-Gon – his _Apprentice_ – wanted him to create some strange new bastard approach to the Force. With Yoda. Who he had coaxed into Falling, stars alone knew how.

“I – You – _Apprentice_.” Dooku applied the Force, slamming Qui-Gon down onto his knees, hearing the creaking of stressed bones and abruptly caught muscles. “What kind of a _fool_ do you take me for?” He could feel the Darkness rise within him, and for the first time in a long while he did not bother fighting it back down. This was _his_ home, _his_ place, _his_ power, and they _dared–_! He flung his cloak back, unhooking his lightsaber. “I gave you _sanctuary_ when you came crawling to me, mewling about the Order and its injustice. I _taught_ you how to be powerful, how to _fight_ that injustice, and you resisted every step of the way, all the while claiming you wished to learn!” He glared over at Yoda, still standing there so fucking serene and _Jedi_. “You two _dabblers_ in the Dark. I’ve no idea who this Venge is, but clearly he was the power of this little coup, if not the brains as well. You come to me, a single kill to your names, and think that _I_ should join _you_ in some strange little covenant that your minute experience with the Dark side claims works so much better?” He sneered, then in the same moment ignited his lightsaber and let his Darkness roam free, howling power and hate through the keep. Yoda staggered, battered by his fury. Qui-Gon was still caught, the training bonds keeping him pinned and useless as ever. “Had you come to me, _begged_ to join me, perhaps I might have shown some mercy!”

Yoda was faster than he expected, lightsaber ignited and raised to block his first blow. Dooku had hoped that age had slowed his old master down, and perhaps that was so, but it was not apparent in the first move. Yoda rebounded away, but then it was clear – Yoda was faster than expected, yet he was not as fast as he _should_ be. He was in pain.

A shame, really. He’d watched the news feeds of Palpatine’s death extensively. It was clear to anyone who had an ounce of Force training. Yoda had drained himself almost dry to defeat Sidious, and even now he showed no sign of tapping in to the Dark side.

Foolish, and weak.

To any _true_ Sith, that was death.

Still, Yoda was skilled and canny. They traded blows around the room – a battlefield specifically chosen to limit the old troll’s fondness for acrobatics, and accommodate Dooku’s preferred dueling style.

The fact that Yoda had to keep pulling his blows away from – or blocking the occasional thrust towards – the kneeling, immobilized Qui-Gon only made it easier.

If Dooku was being entirely honest, that was all that kept him alive. With Yoda tired and hindered, they were approximately equal in skill, and while he had learned much since he had been the troll’s padawan, he did not have several centuries of combat experience to draw upon.

As with most battles between equally skilled combatants, it came down to sheer luck. Yoda swung, was blocked, rebounded to spin away, and his landing against the wall was sloppy. His feet weren’t set quite right, so he had to take a precious moment to use the Force to keep himself aloft as he corrected his stance.

It was a fraction of a second.

It was enough.

Dooku gestured, calling on the Force to smash the small master into the wall even as he tried to leap away. The blow rattled the wall, and it was probably only the fact that Yoda was already tapping into the Force to augment his abilities that kept him from being splattered along its length. The old Jedi’s presence in the Force flickered into the dull state of unconsciousness, leaving Dooku free to turn back to his recalcitrant apprentice. He flicked off his lightsaber, sweeping it back to his belt, and he stalked back to Qui-Gon. He stood behind the man, then used the Force to lift him up and turn him around. Wasn’t it quaint, the expression of furious _horror_ on his face. “You disappoint me, my former padawan.” He Force shoved the man back, releasing the paralysis so that when his failed apprentice slammed into the heavy wood and stone desk, he collapsed atop it, stunned and helpless. A simple application of the Force kept him there, slowing any movement of his limbs but keeping his torso pinned. As Dooku approached, his apprentice squirmed and struggled like a trapped bug, eyes blazing like a true Sith’s – and obviously, it wasn’t helping.

When he stood by the desk, Dooku waited. Ever impatient, Qui-Gon finally stopped wriggling, but unlike the days of old he did not meet his Master’s eyes.

Well. That wasn’t necessary.

“Do you understand the power of the Dark side now, Qui-Gon? I can see I was too hasty in naming you Darth Wraith. I thought you were indeed that which was left after death, the haunting specter seeking vengeance.” Qui-Gon flinched a little, his downcast eyes blazing with a little more yellow. “And look at what I got instead. A wraith of a man left after his heart got ripped out, a ghost pretending to live, still walking. Still pining after that pretty little padawan of yours, like some youngling.” That got a little snarl, so touching. “Pity he was not the one to survive. He would have been a far better student than you.” Ah, _there_ was that delightful spark of fury Qui-Gon was missing so often. He had hate, he had despair, but rage? He was always too much the Jedi to have a spine.

“Can you imagine it, Apprentice? His fury, his rage, after his teacher abandoned him? Would you have admitted your feelings, your last breath a confession, your heart stopping to break his? He would have been magnificent, once he was broken.”

Dooku could not understand why his apprentice lifted his eyes, a strange new spark in them. “And an endlessly better man than you.” Qui-Gon slowly raised a hand away from the desk, a tiny gesture his old master thought was a vain attempt to avoid the inevitable.

Then lightning seared through him, blasting him backwards into the wall. For a moment, more lightning seemed to dance in front of his eyes. His muscles twitched and convulsed as they had not in ages, not since Sidious himself had taught him both use and defense against lightning.

He had _never_ taught Qui-Gon that particular ability. He reached out with the Force, fumbling as another wave of lightning seared into him. All he had to do was find the training bond again, to break the upstart fool on the other end, and then he would discover just who had taught Qui-Gon, who had finally made it through his ridiculous, stubborn refusal to turn away from the Light side of the Force.

Yet even as Dooku reached out, one more jolt of of electricity coursing through his body, the training bonds snapped, the power he’d invested in them recoiling back onto him, through _his_ mind, leaving him not just stunned – the Force lightning had seen to that – but adrift, mind scattered and in desperate need of some cornerstone, some solid starting place to recover his feet.

With a chill, Count Dooku realized that perhaps his old Padawan had learned too well.

* * *

Qui-Gon shoved off the desk and braced himself, gulping in deep, ragged breaths. With that much Darkness and power charging about, the Force screamed at him to use it, demanding he reach out and summon more lightning to sear the galaxy clean of Dooku and any of Sidious’s lingering taint.

He wrestled against the driving urge. Years of experience had taught him that the Dark would be more than willing to overpower him with that need. Yet Yoda had to be protected. _Venge_ had to be protected. He steadied his breathing, then moved over to where Dooku twitched against the base of the wall.

One more trial, one more test. He needed to know Dooku’s intentions, no matter how much his blood boiled and howled for the man’s death. His old master deserved one true, clear opportunity. He went over to the Fallen Count and crouched down, staring into the man’s dark eyes. Qui-Gon leaned in, watching his former Master’s face. “You’re right. He _is_ magnificent – more than you could possibly imagine. His name is Venge.”

Qui-Gon waited until realization sparked in his Master’s eyes. Then Dooku’s expression twisted, and Qui-Gon had his answer. He reached for the Force, his hand curling gently, as a man grasping for some elusive idea in conversation – until he swiftly, sharply turned it aside.

There was a brutal _snap_ as the Count’s neck broke. Qui-Gon slowly stood, feeling almost broken himself. Not so much from injuries, though that was hardly minor – but from what he’d just done.

He felt absolutely no remorse.

Qui-Gon watched the corpse, and as the Dark started to coalesce and spin free, he caught the threads of energy and circled them around and up. Energy built, contained and twisted for far too long already, then screamed free. For several seconds, power and Darkness howled in a contained ribbon of thundering fury, spinning around and up before cascading down to repeat.

When the energy cleared, the corpse was gone. Where it had been, the floor was a furrowed ruin, greasy char blackening gouges that went through wood and centimeters of duracrete. A fine haze of carpet ash hung in the air, and the ceiling showed partially eaten beams.

Qui-Gon turned his back on the mess and went over to Yoda. There was a sizable lump on his head, but nothing seemed broken. A slow, careful reach through the Dark side to Light healing seemed to work, and to his senses the old Jedi – former Jedi – was suffused with healing warmth.

Yoda sat up, movements slow as he blinked and bit back a groan. He stilled when he spotted the destruction, and his ears flattened. “Necessary, that was?” he asked softly.

“Yes.” For once, Qui-Gon didn’t mind the feel of the Darkness burning from his eyes. It felt...comforting, somehow. Again, he shoved it aside. “He denied anything but Darkness in full. No moderation. He would have had our deaths, and Venge’s corruption if possible.” Yoda’s faint snort indicated his view of how well _that_ would go, and while Qui-Gon agreed –

Never again. He would not stand by, _helpless_ , ever again.

Venge had been his last attempt, the faint hope that curiosity or concern would overcome Dooku’s greed or ambition. The way the man’s eyes had lit up with a combination of fascination and thwarted fury had made it clear. If Dooku’s expression of avarice had been in the least legitimate, if Venge were in fact Qui-Gon’s dead padawan, he would not have been safe from Dooku. _No_ being would be safe. Dooku would not stop, would never stop, and the way he didn’t waste any time blatantly latching on to the notion of corrupting Venge, of how to use the man to his advantage –

There was nothing Qui-Gon would ever be able to trust the man to not use or twist to his benefit, no matter the cost to anyone else.

Attacking him, attacking Yoda, using the Dark side – it vaguely amused him how all that could be forgiven. But to callously use others, under any and all conditions, with no concern or humanity? No. Intolerable.

Force help him, he had no regrets on the matter. He looked up at Yoda. “Yes, it was necessary.”

The old master nodded wearily, hobbling across the room to retrieve his gimer stick. “Then leave, we should.” He picked up his cane, holding it for a moment, ears still lowered. “A proper pyre, I wish we could have given him.”

 _No_ , sneered an inner voice immediately. Since even that sounded like Dooku, Qui-Gon ignored it. That was harder than expected. He could understand Yoda’s loss, for a student who could not have existed for decades, but having dealt with the man and Master who Dooku had turned into, Qui-Gon had little left but rage.

He breathed deep instead, trying to release his anger into the Force. While it didn’t work, there was a simple enough answer that would both honor Yoda’s wishes, and sate his own fury. “Get to the ship, get it ready to leave. I’ll see to clearing this place out. There’s enough explosives around that we can bring the whole place down.” He tried for a smile, knowing it was more baring his teeth. “Give a sendoff the size and style he always appreciated.” He stalked off as Yoda turned away, and a part of him was glad.

It was satisfying to vent his anger upon the droids that were all Dooku bothered to have as staff anymore. The damn witless things tromped about, noisy and stupid and ready cannon fodder. Resettling his caches of explosives to useful locations did not take too much longer, and there was nothing of value to remove from his quarters.

Honestly, Qui-Gon was thrilled at the notion of all that ridiculous black frippery going up in flames. On his way to the exit, he made sure to loot the little stashes of credits and various monies, and he idly found himself _humming_ at the notion of trying to tap into the Count’s electronic funds – his access to that had been readily officiated years ago, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he would still have such with Dooku’s death.

Mostly, he just wanted this pit of Darkness to burn.

By the time he got back to the shuttle, Yoda had prepped for flight. All that remained was for him to get aboard. As the door closed behind him, he reached out with the Force, waiting until the ship was well clear of the blast radius before mixing two volatile chemicals together.

He could still feel the ship judder, and there was a lovely, muted boom from beneath them.

Done. Done, and done, and finally, thank the Force, that part of his life was over.

Qui-Gon was mildly surprised to find his legs had given out and he was sitting on the floor. He was still trying to understand these new circumstances when Yoda appeared, giving him an exasperated look. “You have been up how long?” his grand-master snapped.

“What?” He was starting to shake a little, and the world seemed to wobble some around the edges.

“Awake you have been for how long?” Yoda was already gesturing, using the Force to lift him up and –

“Oh, now that’s just undignified. I can walk!”

“Obviously not,” Yoda grumped, still maneuvering him along the hallway towards the stateroom. “Rest, you must! A fantastic pilot I am not, but manage I shall. Rest!” Qui-Gon was practically tossed onto the bed, and in all likelihood it wasn’t an accident that the door slammed shut behind Yoda, who he could hear stomping back to the helm.

For long moments, Qui-Gon remained sprawled on the bed, blinking up at the ceiling. _That is a surprisingly good question. How long_ have _I been up?_ Two days of travel, a day of teaching Yoda, part of a day fighting and talking with Venge, time spent battling –

Time spent –

Why the hell was he crying?

 _Exhaustion_ , some stupid inner voice answered, but what the fuck did it know? It didn’t sound like Dooku, at least, and it didn’t seem to be him talking to himself, so...

Why the hell _was_ he crying?

It had been years since he’d managed to meditate properly, without drawing his lightsaber and finding his way through the movements of the blade. However, Darker meditations existed, much as he disliked the process, as it was all about emotion spewing all over the place, pouncing from notion to memory based upon how _relevant_ it seemed.

He closed his eyes and let the Force guide him.

He was greeted by the memory of Dooku, sprawled at the base of a wall and smoking, head awry and neck at an angle no living human could have.

A wave of guilt, self-loathing, shame, and grief rose up to drown him, with pride and protectiveness striking a dissonant, if bright note against the colder emotions dragging him down.

Qui-Gon let the emotions sit and swirl through him, weighing them. Were he still a Jedi, he would fight that, work to pin them down and discard them, but the hell with that. Damned if he was going to snuggle up to them and treat them like his favorite pets the way Dooku always wanted, though.

A middle path. It had to exist.

He had hoped to save his old Master. There had always been friction at best between them, and at worst their relationship had been abysmal neglect verging on abuse. Those times, at least, had been rare – when they had been Jedi. Falling had only exacerbated Dooku’s temper. Despite all that, Qui-Gon felt as if he should have been able to save the man, pull him from the pit he’d entered, as if the pact with Sidious was something he could have prevented.

It didn’t matter that he knew that was ridiculous.

It didn’t matter that he knew Dooku’s favorite methods of “teaching” him Sith techniques were dangerous, and just as likely to drive one mad or kill outright if the lesson didn’t take correctly.

The man had still been his teacher for years.

Killing him had been the right thing to do. That did not make it easy, however. Qui-Gon used the feeling of shame to wipe clear the self-loathing, both of them pointless exercises in self-flagellation. The rest, he took part unto himself while releasing part to the Force, diminishing their impact but letting the sensation linger. He could learn from this. He would not let these lessons go.

The Force turned him next to the memory of Obi-Wan, face gone pale with shock as a red lightsaber blade drove through his heart, dead before he quite realized what had happened, that the Sith had _won_. It was all tinged with red, that energy field between Qui-Gon and his Padawan like blood, like the Sith’s blade.

Grief. So much grief it spilled from him in an endless, silent scream. Rage and burning, acidic hate ate at him, not calmed by sorrow and longing and futile denial. He was broken and he knew it. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to make the pain stop, but that would mean giving up the light at the very heart of it all. Love. Always love.

Even as he’d painted the whole damned room with the Sith’s blood, though not a drop went near Obi-Wan, he’d wondered. Long after the shield had cycled open and closed and open again, releasing Qui-Gon to walk numbly over the blood-spattered Sith remains, so that he could drop to his knees and cradle the cooling body of his student, he’d wondered.

Why? Why hadn’t he been faster? Why hadn’t he trained the boy better? What if he had not been so cold so hurt so ready to Fall all his life always for his Padawans, they always died he always killed them by not doing _enough_ –

Why had it not been him? Faster, more experienced, more expendable than –

Than the one he loved.

It had been five long, dark, brutal years. It was hardly the first time this meditation approach had led him to this memory. The surprise was that for once it was not where he started from. It was not the first time he cried – he had been weeping over the body still when Amidala’s guards had found them, the war won and he and Anakin _heroes_.

Yet for the first time he faced his Attachment head-on.

Venge’s swift, brutal dissection of the Jedi Order – solitary little beacons of detachment in a garden together, indeed – had shaken him. Learning that the only thing keeping him from slipping into the Darkness had probably been the love he’d felt had removed every last support keeping his denial afloat. This memory, this time, swallowed it altogether.

For the first time in five years, Qui-Gon allowed himself to remember.

He allowed himself to remember the horrid early years, not knowing what to do with another padawan after Xanatos had Fallen, but not able to let such potential go to waste. The horror of Xanatos again, the nightmare that had involved Tahl–

He had never known why Obi-Wan had stood by him. He had never understood his padawan’s devotion, the loyalty, the care –

More than once he had admitted to himself he had been an intermittently awful Master. He had tried – and damn Yoda’s speech anyways – and always, at the end of what finally became every day, he could admit that he was terrified of failing.

Here, now, surrounded by emotion, he could admit that the Darkness had always felt close by, seeping in at the edges, touching more and more of his life, even himself – Force, _had_ that been him, or had Sidious poisoned his views even then? Was it something else? Did it even matter anymore?

For all that Qui-Gon had felt unequal to the task, he couldn’t help but see the brilliant Jedi Obi-Wan would become. Would _have_ become. If only the Darkness dogging Qui-Gon’s steps had not snuffed it out.

How could he not be drawn towards that kind of Light, when he had been drowning in Darkness?

That had hardly been the only reason, but he faced it, admitted it, and he grieved. So many missed opportunities, so much fear, always leading to him pulling back or behaving like a thrice-damned idiot.

Venge had been a revelation. He’d wondered countless times how much better it would have been had Obi-Wan survived instead, and to see the results –

Venge was, quite frankly, terrifying. Qui-Gon wasn’t certain what trials the man had endured, but the way they had marked him, the way the Darkness was so painfully an obvious part of him –

He could admit he would never wish that upon Obi-Wan.

He held onto the love. He accepted the grief and the sorrow with hints of the fury and terror to help him if he ever needed them again, but he used those to wash away the other emotions, the guilt, the denial, and as much of the brokenness as he could bear to let go.

Exhaustion pounced upon him as he finally wrested those emotions under control.

* * *

Qui-Gon became aware of the room in slow degrees, reaching muzzily upwards through however many hours of sleep his body had demanded. That was embarrassing; he usually could tell how long he’d slept, but it seemed he’d pushed his body too hard one too many times. So he lay on the bed for a bit, eyes still closed, and let himself float within the Force.

Something bounced against his nose.

He blinked a few times, but at least he was aware enough to catch the next projectile before it impacted. He held it before his eyes, struggling to waken in what felt like a safe, empty room…that was apparently pitching wads of paper at him. After staring blearily at the ball for a moment, he sat up to find Venge lounging in the chair.

The man had a truly impressive glare. “I thought you swore nothing reckless. Tackling Dooku, in his own fucking home, is _very_ reckless, and incredibly stupid.”

“Perhaps, but it had nothing to do with Sidious. If I’d promised to never do anything reckless ever again, you’d probably have to keep me locked up in here.”

Venge growled and tossed another bit of crumpled stationary at him. “Do not fucking tempt me. What _were_ you thinking?”

“That we might be able to get him to stop being so damn Dark and join us.”

It was strangely satisfying to make Venge gape at him like that. “You are – Why is this whole reality fucking _insane_?”

“Practice.”

This time, he was paying attention. Venge’s snort was indeed trying to cover an awful lot of amusement. Then the Sith gave him a sideways glance and a smirk. “Good job. It has obviously paid off.”

Qui-Gon was glad for the excuse to laugh, as it hid his reaction to that look. He was composed again swiftly enough that he was certain that he’d covered it, though now he had a sincere, honest smile. “I never got to thank you.” Before any sarcastic comments could be made, he held up a hand. “You risked...everything for us. Myself, Yoda, our reality. I know it’s paltry, but it seems to be what I have.” He held those fiery yellow eyes. “Thank you.”

Venge looked away first. “It was...satisfying,” he grudgingly allowed. “You also did well for yourself.” He was graced with another sly look. “Good job. You have killed two Sith Lords, now.”

“Force, I hope no one else considers it that way.” At Venge’s inquiring look, he shrugged uncomfortably. “It took all three of us to stop Sidious’ spirit. I might have given the final blow, but that would have been impossible without Yoda dealing with the lightsaber, which I doubt he could have done without you injuring Palpatine in the first place. It took all of us.”

It was interesting to watch Venge’s expression, starting off skeptical, then growing uncomfortable. He shrugged, looking away as if bored. “Dooku was yours, from what Yoda tells me.”

“Yes, because two of the best duelists in the – that the Jedi have produced in years faced off while I got stuck in place.” Again he shook his head. “I could see some of that duel, and if he hadn’t had to protect me, Yoda would have won quickly enough. Again, it took both of us.” He grimaced. “Stupid of me at the start. I misjudged the power of the training bonds Dooku put on me.”

There was a momentary flicker of some emotion showing around Venge’s eyes. “That is not a mistake you alone have suffered.”

For a few long moments, they sat in silence, almost comfortable – or perhaps companionable – with someone who seemed to understand. Qui-Gon could see the instant that Venge remembered they were not each other’s missing counterpart. “So. How the hell did you learn Force lighting in the first place? I would not think Dooku would be inclined to teach you.”

Qui-Gon looked away. “He didn’t. He does, however, have an extensive library containing every scrap of information about the Dark side, and its uses, that he could find. Once I started – started learning, I wanted more theory. I found enough to put pieces together.” He glanced back at Venge. “For all that, I’ve never read about whatever the hell it was Sidious did.” He tilted his head and raised a brow. “What you did, when you arrived, I think? It felt like the Force itself was tearing apart.”

Venge glared at one of the side walls, head ducking down slightly so his hair obscured his face. “It was.” Qui-Gon froze, gaping at him. “That was a Force storm. A Force-generated wormhole.”

“That’s...”

“Impossible? Of course. And yet.” He shook his head, clearly trying to move on. “I imagine Dooku had no idea – Sidious wants his pets on a tight leash.”

Force, and there they were again, Venge sounding bitter and angry and trying so hard to be vaguely civil, while Qui-Gon tromped all over sore points. “I’m sorry. I – ”

“Do not. There...is no need.” Venge took a deep breath before looking up and meeting Qui-Gon’s eyes. “I am just glad the bastard is dead.” His smile was a feral, vicious thing that was easy to return. “Now. Trying to turn Dooku was stupid. If you want allies, I know a few beings who are reliable enough in my reality.” With a nod towards potential differences between their galaxies, Qui-Gon leaned back and let Venge’s list wash over him. Some were known to him – Jedi, for the most part – though several he knew he’d never run across. The last one, Raallandirr – a Wookiee name, clearly – struck him as strange, given just the slightest break in the Sith’s voice when he declared it.

Still, he had no interest in prodding Venge any more than he already had. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me.” He got a slight head tilt of acknowledgement, then Venge stood. “So.” The man halted. “Did anyone decide where we’re headed?”

Qui-Gon got the distinct impression that as Venge moved to the door, the man was smirking at him. “Tatooine.”

Venge hesitated, hand on the doorknob. “I always seem to end up there,” he declared softly, voice rueful. Then he glanced back, those yellow eyes pinning Qui-Gon in place. “Yoda also tells me Anakin is there.”

Qui-Gon froze. Venge slipped out the door before Qui-Gon could recover, leaving him to flop back against the pillows and stare unseeing at the ceiling.

Anakin. He’d done so poorly by the boy. Not only had he taken Anakin from his home and tossed him into the middle of a war, he’d abandoned the boy afterwards. Qui-Gon had retreated into himself, reduced to a shell of a Jedi who could not move past his padawan’s death. He had thought – After Obi-Wan’s death – He had _Fallen_ –

It had been clear that the boy would be better off with the Order, bright and precocious as he was. He’d been sure that given some time and less taxing circumstances than what he’d dropped on the Council, someone would be certain to take such an eager, powerful padawan.

Yet this information clearly meant that the boy had aged out.

Qui-Gon felt so strangely weary, so frustrated that the entire Jedi Order had missed a Sith Lord under their very noses, that they could not see the potential in someone like Anakin Skywalker – all the politics and power brokering that he had, in truth, been happy to leave behind.

 _No avoiding it; we’ve burned that bridge thoroughly. There’s no going back now_. Tatooine seemed like as good a place as any. He winced as he stood and stretched. Anakin had been so very eager to be a Jedi, and he had just abandoned the boy.

If he was lucky, showing up wouldn’t get doors slammed in their faces, though Force knew he’d probably deserve it.

If not – then they would deal with it then. It would be justice, after all.

He paused at the doorway, taking a deep breath to center himself. A part of him was amused – Venge had done the same thing. That lifted his head higher; the notion of the Sith who wasn’t. The extraordinary man who had once been his padawan, but in truth, was not that man at all.

For such an angry being, Venge brought surprising hope in his wake.

Qui-Gon opened the door.

It was time to face his past, and perhaps make something of his future.

* * *

Adi Gallia sighed and rolled onto her side. It had been years since she’d had so much on her mind that even meditation could not help her find rest. She’d seen some horrible situations since joining the Council, but this...

This was something special. She growled softly and sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face. This was ridiculous. Adi stood up and started pacing, since some of her difficulty was lack of useful activity. She was on probation from the Council – and she had to face the fact that it was in all likelihood going to be a permanent loss of position. That was not much of a problem. While she _would_ miss having a say in the development of the Jedi Order, helping her fellow Jedi and trying to make everyone’s lives a little easier, it would be a gift from the gods to escape some of the politics and regular nit-picking arguments. She might have a talent for administration, but that was not her only skill.

The Senate concerned her far more than the Council. Within one rotation, they had convened, held a memorial for Chancellor Palpatine – in spite of the Jedi Order making it clear he had, in fact, been a Sith Lord – and started inquiries as to what the hells had happened.

Adi was their prime target. The speed of her pacing increased. For the moment, as evidence was being collected – at least that, for the time being, was considered within the Jedi purview – it was all testimonies, accusations. Noise and hot air.

Her steps slowed as she chewed through possible directions the Senate would use for attack. They were not pleased at all with the Order, let alone with her.

The evidence, however, was in their favor.

There was obviously no way she was getting any useful sleep tonight.

Adi sat down at her console, gratified that her Councilors’ permission codes hadn’t been frozen or revoked yet. She pulled copies of the Senate security footage onto her machine and started watching the whole mess over again.

Mess was the proper word for it. There was a lot of data, much of it irrelevant. She set to work culling the information down, discarding anything unnecessary. It took a while to settle into a pattern, splicing together a chronological stream of information, but she found it soothing.

Adi only stopped when on her console, Qui-Gon’s blond friend dropped his cloak and started running into the Chancellor’s office. Her hand shook just a little as she faced the man with blazing eyes, fierce expression of _hate_ directed down the corridor.

 _Kenobi died_. She shook her head, disturbed that the hasty impression she’d gotten at the Senate had been _right_. The man looked like Obi-Wan Kenobi – angrier, as much a Sith as Jinn, but she remembered that face.

She remembered seeing it upon a pyre.

It worried her, that Qui-Gon had – had what, really? Gone searching for a student to replace his dead padawan? That didn’t sound like him, and if it were the case, then why was the younger Sith so much more terrifying than Jinn? It hadn’t just been raw power; it had been the control and precision to the man’s abilities.

No. It _couldn’t_ be Obi-Wan Kenobi, not unless the young man who had been at Jinn’s side making reports to the Council for _years_ had not been Padawan Kenobi. A startling likeness, reconstructive surgery, perhaps a sibling? She took the time to poke at old Temple records, and it looked as if Obi-Wan might have had a brother who had not tested high enough to be brought to the Temple.

Perhaps it was as simple as that.

No matter what the answer, the likeness was painful, and troubling. This man who could not be Kenobi would draw attention from the immediate issues _–_ Palpatine. The Sith. The corruption and decay that probably had spread from the Chancellor’s office. Yet would this man become a problem in his own right, later?  

Adi chewed her lip for a long moment, then sighed. It all came down to how far she was willing to trust Qui-Gon Jinn and Master Yoda. Both Fallen, both banished from Coruscant.   She backed up the footage, watched Qui-Gon divert in her direction.  Qui-Gon had specifically intended for her to be a witness. She let the image run, watching herself react to discovering the Sith with Kenobi’s face.  He’d warned that it would be dangerous for her.  What Sith cared enough about a Jedi to do that?  Master Yoda himself had asked her to be careful, even though he’d already Fallen; looking back, the signs were obvious – hiding his face, his ease of mobility, the changes in his voice and Force presence.

These Fallen Force-users had not acted as Sith, as enemies. How much did she trust them?  How much more was she willing to risk?

If she left the original files uncorrupted, yet provided a better alternative than slogging through this mess, she’d knowingly be hiding something.  If she assembled the footage well enough, cohesively enough, chances were nobody would bother to do another version.

She set to work splicing together more of the security footage, setting out to provide as clear a narrative as she could create. Taking the time to blur a single face didn’t slow her down, and the notion that clouding one issue would clear up many others amused her. The Sith with Kenobi’s face, Qui-Gon, and Yoda had protected, maybe even saved, the entire Jedi Order.  Now, Adi would protect them in turn.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IMPORTANT NOTE:** Since we're aware that smut isn't everyone's cup of tea, here is the chapter wherein things are gotten on, and while there is some character development, there are no major plot points. Thus, if you are for any reason uncomfortable with two consenting adults getting it on, you can feel free to skip this chapter. 
> 
> Eternal thanks be to the incredible Flamethrower, for lending us Venge and keeping the writing up to spec.

The problem with the shuttle was that while it was spacious for its class, it was still a small ship overall. The stateroom was the most generous area, with the medical bay a close second – until one considered the hideously expensive bacta tank it housed. The helm was small, with room for three should they not mind being crammed in close, and the galley and ’fresher were middling size. Yoda had reclaimed the stateroom, shutting the door with grumbles threatening horrific applications of his gimer stick on anyone fool enough to sneak in and be waiting for him to wake up.

This meant Qui-Gon and Venge had been avoiding each other as much as it was possible for two grown men who only had four small rooms to alternate between. Some awkwardness had been avoided as they gathered up resources for Venge to take with him to the next reality. He was surprised but well pleased to have not just spare rations, but all the medical supplies he could carry. The crowning touch were some small, precious stones that Qui-Gon had quietly left on the galley table, pushing the pouch containing them in his direction even as the tall man had fled to the helm to...to pretend to push buttons, or something.

Dooku was a wonderfully decadent bastard to loot. He would be leaving this reality better supplied than he’d imagined.

In the end, though, there was only so much make-work they could scrounge up. They had ended up back in the galley, Venge sprawled on one of the benches while Qui-Gon leaned against one of the walls, arms crossed and hair forward to shadow his face.

“Well.” It was Qui-Gon who finally broke the silence.

“Yes.” Venge glanced sideways at Qui-Gon, the lean man almost too thin and hunched in on himself in the small space. “We land in a few hours, and I would rather not traumatize Anakin too much. I will be leaving then.”

Qui-Gon just huffed a small laugh. “I’m sure when he learns about this, he will vow to kick your ass.”

A wry grin twisted his lips. “Maybe, but I prefer to not be too traumatized, myself.” They shared an awkward grin before lapsing into a less awkward silence.

“Tell me about your Qui-Gon.”

Venge blinked, pulled from his mental checklists. “What?”

“Tell me about your Qui-Gon. What kind of a man is he?” The current Qui-Gon was studying his hands, his raspy voice soft and tentative.

“Loving,” Venge found himself saying. “Grounded. Caring. Fierce. I see much of him in you.” That was not...entirely true. He closed his eyes and tried to take a calming breath. The sheer, overwhelming loneliness that wrapped around his heart left him feeling chilled despite the Fire still raging through him, which was not something he’d thought possible. Force, he missed Qui.

After the silence stretched out too long, he looked over the older man. This Qui-Gon was staring at him instead of his hands, but that was not much of an improvement. There was something lost about him.

Venge knew exactly how he felt.

“Do you tell him? How you feel?”

He looked away. “As often as possible, and that will never be often enough.”

The silence returned, until Qui-Gon moved slowly, making sure that Venge saw him well before his hand came to land on his shoulder. “Thank you,” he said softly. “You have done so much for us.”

It was obvious he wasn’t talking about the galaxy as a whole.

Venge had to fight to keep from nuzzling the hand, the feel of it so familiar – almost right, almost his Qui-Gon. He took a deep breath, grounding himself in the slightly bitter tang of this man. They were close now, closer than he had allowed himself to get in his entire time in this reality. He wanted to close that distance, the Fire in his blood pushing him to reclaim his mate, now Dark like Venge himself.

“I have missed this. I want to thank you,” Venge murmured, the tightest possible control leashing his instincts, “in the most traditional way possible.”

It was clear that Qui-Gon understood; the way his breath caught, his pupils flaring out as he stared tight-lipped at Venge. There was something to his expression, longing and hope and a strange resolution Venge didn’t quite understand.

“Would you want that?” Venge stood slowly, studying this stranger with his mate’s face. “How far would you want to go? What would you be comfortable with?”

Qui-Gon kept staring at him. “I...I don’t know.”

They stood there for a long few moments, not even a foot apart, just studying each other. Qui-Gon looked vulnerable, care-worn and ever too thin. In the end, it was the look in his eyes that decided Venge. There was too much uncertainty, too much self-doubt.

“A kiss, then.” He took his time as he leaned in, keeping his eyes on Qui-Gon. Deep inside, a part of him was disappointed, though more with himself than this Qui-Gon. He missed his mate, and only some of that was the Fire’s influence. It was clear they were both keenly aware that the other man was not the person they most wanted, but that this was the closest they would come any time soon.

To some degree, Venge didn’t care. He missed his mate.

Their lips made contact, and he breathed in. The scent was off, close enough to tease and arouse, strange enough to make the Darkness in his blood stir. At first, it was simple movements, just pressing close and letting him savor the feel of skin and the rasp of beard, the blue eyes wide and dark. Then he reached up, cupping a hand through Qui-Gon’s hair, the wrong color but the right texture, and he closed his eyes, not quite comfortable letting this man who was almost his mate see his Dark eyes.

Perhaps it helped; perhaps it was surprise, but Qui-Gon’s mouth opened, letting him in, letting him explore. Qui-Gon’s deep, shuddering breath out through the nose made it clear it was indeed a surprise. His mate knew how to kiss, how to return the gesture, and it was very clear that this man did not. It made Venge bolder, and gentler, taking his time to play, tongue moving as far and deep as he could, cataloging every muffled sigh and shift from the older man.

When he felt a hand alight on his waist, not pushing, simply _there_ , he thought it was to keep from overbalancing. Then he realized that Qui-Gon’s _other_ hand had slid up under his tunics. Surprise had him sucking his stomach in, skin sensitive to the touch, which let Qui-Gon move his hand down Venge’s pants. It was a gentle, cautious movement, but Venge’s eyes snapped open and he bit back a moan.

Qui-Gon’s eyes were soft, gentle, with a hint of wry humor tilting the lines of sorrow surrounding them. _He_ was the one pursuing the kiss now, adjusting the speed and angle of the slow, little flicks of the tongue. His hand kept going south, stroking, then lightly grasping Venge. He bucked against the hand, finally leaning back, desperate to not break contact but for the first time in a while hesitant, unsure of what the fuck was going on.

Qui-Gon saw his look, and his smile remained gentle, painfully sweet with that hint of uncertainty. “I think perhaps we could share something more?” he asked in that quiet, raspy voice, a roughened version of his mate’s.

 _A gift_ , the Force whispered, and he didn’t know if it was from this Qui-Gon, the universe itself, or something else, _a gift between two lost and lonely souls_.

Fuck, from the slight lift of the taller man’s brows, the surprise flitting across his face, he heard it, too. The surprise might be that he had broadcast the thought, or thinking that it was Venge—

Fuck it. He twined his fingers deeper into that long hair, pulling Qui-Gon back, and he was not sure which of them was moaning as they kissed again, a slow gliding of tongues that mimicked the gentle movements of Qui-Gon’s hand. This, at least, he seemed skilled at, and Venge couldn’t stop a moment of absurd amusement that at least this reality’s insane Jedi didn’t have anything against masturbation. Then he moved his free hand down, sliding it along the black-clad torso and then up, unbuckling Qui-Gon’s pants and sliding them down to grasp his erection.

The Dark, possessive part of him purred at the way Qui-Gon’s eyes fluttered, accompanied by the swift almost-stagger of a man pleasantly surprised at another’s touch. Venge nuzzled along the line of his throat, breathing in the scent of home as he curled his fingers further around the soft skin of Qui-Gon's shaft. It was delightful to hear the rumble of wordless pleasure, Qui-Gon arcing up and almost tilting them over. Venge caught them, his hand coming down from the man’s hair to Force push against the wall, keeping them steady. He thought that Qui-Gon didn’t even notice, but when he looked up the man’s expression was rueful, a little sheepish, with hints of humor in his eyes. As if in apology, he bent down to kiss Venge again.

Venge did love that Qui-Gon was a fast learner. He was still learning, but he seemed to have picked up on some of the things Venge liked with remarkable swiftness. They kept trading gentle, nibbling kisses, Qui-Gon taking the opportunity to undo Venge’s belt and get a better angle. Even with that new advantage, Venge could feel how very close to the edge Qui-Gon was. He leaned back a little, inhaling sharply a those large Jinn hands _curled_ just so, wrapping a little further around Venge's rapidly hardening cock.

Worth it both for the sensation, and the fact that he wanted to see. He let this Dark Qui-Gon see him, his face, his Sith bright eyes, and he let the ever-present longing for home show as they continued to stroke each other.

Qui-Gon stared at him, eyes locked on his face with a hint of tears in his eyes. He made a small noise when he came, head going up and back but eyes never leaving Venge, then he mouthed two syllables as he folded forward, ending up resting his forehead on Venge’s shoulder. His hand movements stuttered, but didn’t stop, the motion quickly becoming smoother, surer.

Venge tilted his head back and closed his eyes, ignoring the faint sensation of dampness on his shoulder. He could feel Qui-Gon move, lifting his head and shifting until they were almost cheek to cheek. The taller man’s breath ghosted along his ear, the softness muting the raspier tones. “Should I say anything?”

Fuck, he was developing tears of his own. “Tell me we will be home soon. That it will be all right.”

He could hear the hitch in Qui-Gon’s breath. “We’ll meet up at home, soon. We’ll be together. Everything will be all right.”

For a moment he could believe that this was his Qui, reaching out to give him comfort however he could. Loving words, confidence in the outcome, and his lifemate _here_ in arm’s reach. He finally wobbled, grabbing Qui’s free arm as joy and pleasure washed through him at the notion, the movements of a hand that could be his mate’s coaxing him to peak. It was a sweet, gentle sensation, leaving him leaning against the taller man. When Venge could at last stand on his own, he could feel the slight support of the Force keeping _him_ upright let go.

He, however, did not. He stayed close to Qui-Gon, savoring the feel of his body that close and ignoring the differences between this man and his Qui.

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon finally said, voice still soft.

Venge raised an eyebrow. “For what, jacking you off?”

Qui-Gon smirked. “No. The...as you eloquently put it, the gift.”

For that, he got a narrow-eyed glare. “First, you’re welcome. Second, that was _not_ eloquent, and third, I most certainly did not put it that way. I understand that hanging around Dooku means you are used to flowery tripe, but some of us prefer to _avoid_ that sort of melodrama.”

Qui-Gon blinked and pulled back a little. “But...it sounded like you.”

“It. Was. Not.” He could only hope he did not have a reputation as someone that florid.

They shared an uncomfortable moment and a small, resigned shrug. As two former Jedi, they could readily attest that the Force worked in mysterious ways, sometimes best left as unexamined as possible.

Venge, looking to break the silence, forced himself to speak. “And...thank you, as well. I also appreciated that.” At Qui-Gon’s raised brow, he shrugged and looked away, making the subtle excuse to move just a little bit closer. “Hope,” he whispered softly. Qui-Gon went still, eyes dark again but with some different emotion. “That’s not what it was for you?”

The older man gave a brusque shake of the head. “No,” Qui-Gon answered, almost in a whisper. He took a moment to fight to meet Venge’s eyes. “Forgiveness.”

They held the look a moment longer, then Venge forced himself to snort. “Then the next time you’re beating yourself up with guilt, go think on this instead.”

A small but real smile flitted across Qui-Gon’s face. “Guilt leads to embracing the Light? I thought it was usually the other way around.”

“Embracing the _what_?” he finally pulled away, not quite willing to believe the obvious conclusion.

“Don’t tell me you prefer the more immature ‘playing with the other lightsaber?’”

Venge stared. From the faint hints of a smirk flitting around Qui-Gon’s lips, he suspected it was truth. “You are all. Fucking. Insane. Are you really telling me that—”

As he sputtered, Qui-Gon _grinned_ at him, pulling his hand gently from Venge’s pants to pantomime a pathetic, vaguely obscene gesture, as if he hadn’t just been doing the real thing, quite well. Then the bastard _nodded_.

“You’re joking.”

“You think I would come up with something that ridiculous all on my own?”

Some long moments more of the unrelenting Jinn Patient Because I’m Right stare, and Venge shook his head. “I hate this reality. You are all blatantly mad.” He nonetheless removed his hand with gentle care, using the clean one to pull leggings clear with just a touch of a light caress. “So for that, I make first claim on the ’fresher. I hope you have some clean pants.”

Venge turned and pretended to stalk off, but kept a surreptitious eye on the other man. He was rewarded by seeing Qui-Gon ruefully examining his clothes, then he sat, head tilting to rest against the wall. A tiny, almost sweet smile crossed his face as his eyes closed. Venge shut the ’fresher door and leaned against it for a moment, closing his own eyes to savor the moment. A few hours, and he was heading home.

Soon.

Things would be all right.


	6. Chapter 6

Venge picked the landing site, a piece of desert the maps labeled as being right on the edge of the Jundland Wastes. There didn’t seem to be anything within kliks of the area aside from canyons, sand, and one old house that looked like it’d been deserted for years.

Qui-Gon breathed deep of the dry air as they disembarked, unsurprised that his mind summoned old, painful memories. Tatooine always seemed so alien. For a moment, as the wind bustled sand across him, he could close his eyes and imagine. He half expected that when he opened his eyes he would see Queen Amidala waiting, in disguise yet still with that imperious look.

Instead, it was Venge and Yoda he saw, the small Master grumping but looking around with an eager light in his eyes. Venge...almost looked as if he had come home. He was staring around with a tiny smirk on his face, eyes darting around as if seeking old familiar landmarks.

Qui-Gon couldn’t summon up the enthusiasm that either of the others displayed. Tatooine had always been the beginning of the end for him. He hoped they wouldn’t be on planet long. They still needed to find Anakin, for if nothing else, he owed the boy an apology. He owed the boy more than that; a debt for helping him limp along during those nightmarish days after – after, when the only things keeping him going were the routine that a young padawan required, and the fact that Obi-Wan would have wanted him to.

To his shame, he was not certain which element had been a greater factor. Anakin had deserved better than that.

Venge pulled him out of his distraction, rolling his shoulders and approaching Qui-Gon carefully. “This is where we part ways.”

“I know.” Part of him wanted to ask the Sith to stay, to make this reality home. It was impossible, of course, even if part of him knew with fixed and unwavering certainty that this was Obi-Wan standing before him. A changed Obi-Wan, a Sith, but his padawan still. “May the Force be with you,” he declared in lieu of everything he wanted to say, gripping Venge’s offered arm in farewell.

“And with you.” They held each other’s eyes for a second. “Master Yoda,” Venge said, not looking away from Qui-Gon, “look after Qui-Gon for me.”

“A difficult task you set me.”

“I know.” Venge quirked a small grin.

Walking a short ways away from them, the Sith turned to watch them one last time. “Good luck, to both of you. You may need it.” He smirked at Qui-Gon. “Do try not to be too reckless.”

Qui-Gon looked with hungry eyes, taking in the last seconds as Darkness gathered. The Force groaned under the increasing pressure of the Dark as it built like an incoming storm, seeming to dim even the bright desert suns.

Faster now, the Darkness whipped around Venge, and the Force started to scream in protest. Venge opened blazing yellow eyes, snarling as the Dark split the Force open like a wound. Reaching out, he seemed to wrap the tattered edges of the world around him, and the Force Storm swallowed him whole with a cutting abruptness.

Qui-Gon blinked as the Dark side started to fade and soothe over, leaving a small crater in the sand that was already being filled by the winds.

“Go, we should, if wish to reach the Lars home before nightfall, we do,” Yoda gently pointed out some time later.

Qui-Gon nodded, wiping wetness from his eyes. He hoped Venge found his home soon. He turned away, back straight, and followed Yoda into the shuttle.

He was relieved that they were both content to stay quiet for the flight, but the closer they got to a moisture farm outside of Anchorhead, the more he questioned the sanity of their endeavor. Anakin had left the Order, not even going into one of the service branches. Would he welcome any interaction with Jedi – former or no – after leaving?

_Dammit, man, you’ve killed a Sith Lord. You’ve killed_ two _Sith Lords. If you can do that, this should be readily accomplishable. Be brave enough to confess your sins. He deserves an opportunity to throw them in your face if that’s what he desires._ He tried very hard to ignore the faint, desperate, and desperately hidden hope that perhaps this could be beneficial instead.

They landed outside the perimeter sensors, taking the winding path to the entry dome that had to have alerted someone inside that there were visitors. Yoda trailed after him in no hurry to interfere. Through their bond it felt as if Yoda viewed his role as secondary – and Qui-Gon could not argue the point.

He hesitated at the closed door, then palmed the door chime.

After a minute that was both too long and too short, he heard footsteps approaching. Moreover, he could _feel_ that familiar presence in the Force – stronger, but now muted with well-learned control. Then the steps halted, and the door opened.

Qui-Gon couldn’t help but stare at the boy who stood in the doorway. He was a lean young man, muscled and tanned from the twin suns, with tousled tawny hair and blue eyes. He took one look at the former Jedi, and those eyes went wide. He spit out a Huttese obscenity and stepped out of the door, almost pulling it shut behind him. He crossed his arms and scowled up at Qui-Gon. “What do _you_ want?”

* * *

For a moment, his heart had been in his throat. Anakin didn’t know what to think, other than he was _not_ going to have this conversation where anyone else could hear it. As he stepped outside, Qui-Gon Jinn took a small step back, looking like someone had smacked him upside the head with a hydrospanner.

A part of Anakin wished that he could. This _asshole_ had abandoned him, disappearing who the fuck knew where, leaving him in the Jedi Temple, knowing only the grim-faced Council members who clearly didn’t want him, and no real place – well, anywhere. For most of his classes he was stuck with the babies, though the mechanical courses and anything with piloting _he_ was the baby of the class, even if he was just as good as them, if not better. Never really fitting in anywhere, resented by everyone as weird and different, always with the watchful eyes of the Master Jedi who thought he was something bad. If it hadn’t been for the Force, he knew he would have gone nuts within the first few months.

Yet there had always been the hope that when he was old enough, when he’d made it through all those baby classes, Qui-Gon would return, and he could be a Padawan.

The day he’d turned thirteen, he’d left the Temple on a cheap shuttle seat to Tatooine.

Even the service corps hadn’t wanted him, and he _could_ fix anything mechanical they broke. It had seemed like both a mercy and the cruelest thing ever. On the one hand, he couldn’t stand the thought of forever being that freak who came to the Temple too late and washed out, but on the other, the Force kept whispering to him that this was not his fate, to be just another moisture farmer on this damned dustball.

He wanted to believe, somewhere deep inside, that Jinn was here to finally keep his promise, but there was no way in any hells he could buy that. Also, what kind of idiot wore all that _black_ on Tatooine? Bastard’s brains were probably already half fried.

“Well?” he demanded, finding it distantly funny that it only took Jinn a single breath to marshal his Jedi calm and poise.

He ignored the pang of longing – loss – that rang through him, too.

Jinn looked him in the eyes, and for the first time Ani could see in the dim light that the old man looked _horrible_ , like someone had been giving him half rations for the last few years and then stuck him in a cellar for at least one of them. “Anakin. I was hoping we could talk.”

He deliberately stuck out his jaw in what Mom called a sulk, but a lot of the racers in Anchorhead knew meant trouble. “Congratulations. Your wish has been granted, we talked, now how about you get the hell off the property?”

“Ani? Did Threepio glitch again?”

Fuck fuck fuck, Owen was walking towards the door. “Piss off! I’m doing stuff!” he shouted back, but apparently all his luck today sucked mynock balls. Most of the time it was fifty-fifty that Owen would be all adult and big-brotherly-above-everything, preferring “things’ll be better and make more sense when you’re older” over sticking his damn nose into everything.

Instead the door opened, and Owen blinked at Jinn. “Who’re you?”

Jinn looked at him, then did a formal bow. “Qui-Gon Jinn. This is my companion, Yoda.”

Oh. Fuck. The old master hobbled around Jinn’s boots, smiling up at Owen before repeating the human’s bow to both of them. Well. Now Ani’s day _couldn’t_ get worse. Even though Yoda had been one of the loudest voices against his presence at the temple at first, after Jinn disappeared he’d changed his mind. Maybe. It wasn’t like he was all in favor of Ani or anything, it was just that he didn’t obviously hate him.

It was better than what anyone else gave him. He hadn’t even _seen_ the old troll, who’d been right there while –

Well, fuck it. Even as Master Yoda looked over with a small smile for him, Ani shook his head. “They were just leaving.”

“Who was just leaving?” Mom came up to stand behind Owen, wearing the politely curious expression she had when she was irked with him. That changed the instant she saw who was standing there. “Master Jinn!” Of _course_ she looked right back over at Anakin, with that expression of hope and gut-twisting belief that he could change reality to make something of himself. “Please, come in!”

The Force _twinged_ in a way he’d never felt before, as if it were recoiling from the Lars family. He opened himself to it, letting that painfully sweet thrum of power move through him, and he could see that something was off about both Jedi. He was moving in-between them and his family even as Cliegg showed up behind Mom, and fuck, in the Force his step-father practically shouted with a swirl of strange emotion.

Of course, this was Cliegg, so all he did was raise a brow. “Guests?” he asked.

Owen was looking at him funny, who knew _what_ was going on with Cliegg, and Mom had this thing where she thought all Jedi were the most incredible beings ever.

Then Jinn shared a look with Yoda, and did something very, very weird. He took another bracing breath, and lifted his head to look Mom in the eyes. “Lady Skywalker.”

“Lars, now, and I’d prefer if you called me Shmi.”

Hah. _Go Mom!_ She’d thrown him way off course, and it took an extra second for the old man to get himself together. “I thank you, but we would not wish to accept your hospitality under false pretenses.”

This felt _bad_. “What’s a true pretense look like?” He could have kicked himself for that, but things felt so strange that he needed to snap at _someone_.

Damned if Jinn didn’t smirk a bit and do a little head tilt of acknowledgement. “Master Yoda and I seem to have gotten in a spot of trouble lately. I wonder if you’ve seen any recent newsfeeds?”

Wow. _Qui-Gon Jinn_ had done something big enough to –

Shit. To be hiding out on Tatooine, dusty ass-end of the Rim, and whatever it was had made the newsfeeds. Ani didn’t know if he should be impressed or terrified.

Cliegg was trying to step forward past Mom. “News takes a while to reach out here. Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”

“Changes within the Republic, there are,” Yoda declared serenely. Mom and Owen did the thing almost everyone did their first encounter with Yoda-speak, not quite a double-take but trying to reorganize what they’d just heard. Cliegg, on the other hand, just kept giving the two Jedi the _look_.

Jinn nodded. “Supreme Chancellor Palpatine has been revealed as the Sith Lord Sidious.”

_What. The. FUCK._

Jinn did not look like he was joking. He looked...injured. Ani blinked as he realized that while the old Jedi had been roughed up, he didn’t look as lost or seriously wounded as he had after – after Naboo, when everything went to shit.

“He is now dead.” There was something funny to Jinn’s eyes, a hardness hiding in the dry humor Ani remembered liking once upon a time.

Owen didn’t have Ani’s problem of trying to figure out what the hell was weird with the two Jedi. His mouth sagged open and he pointed at the two. “You... _killed_ the Republic’s Supreme Chancellor?”

Yoda harrumphed the way he did right before he smacked some idiot with his cane. Jinn gave Owen a Look instead. “If we were fugitives, this is a remarkably stupid way of going about things.”

“That’s not all, is it?” Everyone turned to look at him, and even Ani was surprised at how harsh his voice sounded. Any other time he’d be thrilled it didn’t crack on him, but something was very _wrong_ in the Force.

The man who looked Anakin over was not the Jedi who’d taken him out of slavery. This man was distant, almost calculating. “You seem quite certain of that.”

“You’re sure as fuck dancing around something, and you don’t feel like Jedi.”

Shit. There it was, the Force moving through his mouth and directing his suspicions into actual words. He was only distantly aware that Mom was trying to move, glare at him maybe or talk to him about language again, but Cliegg was keeping her back. Good.

Not so good was the way Jinn had an almost bitter smile for a few seconds. Then he looked Ani right in the eyes. “I swear to you, we mean no harm to anyone or anything here. We came because we wished to talk, and apologize for – for the many past offenses you have suffered.”

He could feel the prickle of fucking _tears_ on his eyes, but that wasn’t important. While the Force told him that this was Truth, there was still the open question. _“And?”_

“And we are no longer Jedi.”

“Wow.” He looked over at Yoda. “The hell did you do to get kicked out? And why didn’t they invite you back in after killing a Sith Lord?”

Yoda looked at him, looking the same inscrutable way he always did. “Used the Dark side, we did, to kill the Sith.”

There was a funny roaring in his ears that might have been his family asking questions, not entirely understanding. Sure, everyone knew the Dark side was bad. But they hadn’t been trained in the Jedi Temple.

Anakin had never wanted a lightsaber so much in his life. He’d settle for a blaster, but – Sith! He’d had one of them try to kill him. He’d stood by Obi-Wan Kenobi’s pyre, after having watched Jinn grieve all the way from Naboo to Coruscant. If Anakin had been asked to name someone that he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, would never turn Dark, it would have been Jinn. But now- _Jinn_ and _Yoda_ were _Sith_?

Damn Jinn anyway, the man was looking at him and there was fucking _pity_ in his eyes. “Anakin, we will harm no one here. Using the Dark side is not the same as being Sith.”

“Please. Do you think I was _that_ bad a student?” He took a step forward, and he was incredibly grateful that Jinn leaned back. Anything to get them further away from his family. “I know you weren’t exactly around while I was learning how to be a Padawan – ” Hah! Jinn flinched! “ – but I did work hard. I studied hard, and by the time I _aged_ _out_ I was ready! I passed the Initiate’s Trials, I was _good_ at it! And I know what the Dark side means, I know what it means about you!”

“It means I used brutal measures to destroy a monster.”

“Becoming a monster yourself?”

Jinn kept looking at him, then he sighed. “I...think I have managed to avoid that. But there is no way I could return to the Jedi now.”

“Then why not stick around in the first place?” His hands were in fists, he could feel every last bit of Jedi-taught control keeping him from flying at the man, using the Force to speed him up to hit and make it hurt the way he never, ever did no matter how rough the Anchorhead brawls got. This was different! “The Jedi are supportive of those who belong, they would’ve helped you. Why break your promise, why did you leave?”

The old man _had_ to know he was this close to getting a beating, but he just kept up the sad expression. “I could not take a new padawan until I knew he would not die like the last one.”

Oh fuck no, he was not going to buy that, and he was _not_ going to cry! “So you’ve been Sith hunting since then? _That’s_ your excuse? You could’ve just taught me! I’m not weak!”

“No, you’re not.” Jinn shook his head. “But I was. Grief, fear, anger – these are not things that a Jedi allows to remain. Anakin, do you understand? The man who brought you back to Coruscant was not the Jedi who took you there the first time.” Jinn’s eyes closed, as if he were searching for inner strength.

When he opened them, they were Sith eyes, putrid yellow surrounded in red. “Five years of the Dark side. I am no Jedi. But I have not Fallen all the way.”

He’d seen the holos. He’d studied like a good little Initiate. Those eyes made his skin want to crawl off his bones and hide under the bed. The Dark side _corrupted_ , twisting you inside further and further into evil, pretty quickly twisting your body too. Qui-Gon fucking Jinn had Sith eyes.

_And strangely, we’re still not dead_ , a hysterical inner voice cracked. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Honestly? No.” Jinn sighed and the yellow bled back out of his eyes. “But I had to try. I’ve treated you very poorly, and you are long overdue my apologies.”

“Oh, that makes it all better. Congratulations, Master Jinn, you killed a fucking Sith Lord, you apologized for not being there when you were needed, now _get the hell off this property_.”

Ani expected glares, mutters, all the disdain and resentment that he always got at the Temple for not being a properly appreciative Initiate. Instead Jinn bowed his head, then executed a formal bow to him. “Then may the Force be with you, Anakin.”

He crossed his arms and glared, because he. Would. Not. Cry.

* * *

Anakin was still a brave boy. Qui-Gon could admit it hurt to see him trying so hard to stand tall, as if daring Qui-Gon to comment on the sorrow and rage in his eyes.

The Jedi Order...had not been kind to Anakin. It was easy enough to bank his own rage, but it was difficult to turn away from the house and the confused family. He wanted – he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Not forgiveness, not from Anakin; he knew that would not be coming.

A gentle touch from Yoda through their bond gave him strength, straightening his back even as he could feel Anakin glaring daggers at it.

“Master Jinn.” Shmi’s voice, clear and unafraid, stopped him. “Did you mean it?” He turned to give her a puzzled look, to which she raised her head proudly. “You mean no harm?”

“Yes, I meant it. Darkness is not evil.” He ignored Anakin’s dubious snort only by holding close the memory of Venge’s lecture on Attachment. “It can be, it can _easily_ be, but I swear we are not.”

She held his eyes for a long moment, and he could almost feel the Force showing her glimpses of the soul he’d thought long gone. Then she nodded. “I believe you,” she declared softly, and that remarkable woman swept a stern gaze over the menfolk surrounding her. “Come in, please. We have not yet had dinner, and you are welcome to stay.”

Of her family, the young man somewhere in his twenties flinched a little, but gave her a deferential nod. Anakin glowered, then cursed and stomped through the door, radiating distrust and concern and a dull pain that threaded through the boy's entire presence. The older man stood for a moment, looking between them, and then gave a nod to himself. “This is the Jedi who found Ani?”

Shmi had a gentle, loving look for the man. “Yes. This is Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Master Jinn, my husband, Cliegg Lars.”

Qui-Gon bowed to him, and the man gave a short, brusque nod back. “Then I’d like to have a word with you. Shmi, if...Master Yoda? If he would like to go with you, we’ll catch up shortly.”

Both Qui-Gon and Yoda were trying to send reassurance to the other through the training bond, which under almost any other circumstance would have been amusing. Here, however, he merely felt disturbed. Lars had a quiet presence in the Force, natural shielding, perhaps, and as he led Qui-Gon down stairs and into a surprisingly spacious, well-lit compound, he couldn’t quite fight off a sense of unease. Given the man’s reactions to them, he supposed this was to be a lecture to be on his best behavior and to leave as soon as possible.

Cliegg went to a closed door, and he pulled Qui-Gon inside a small study, the centerpiece a desk covered with ‘plast and dust. “I saw the newsfeeds,” Cliegg declared with the same brusqueness he’d shown earlier. Ah, so this was to confirm what he saw, threats to leave quickly, and perhaps a warning to keep away from Anakin.

The farmer crossed his arms and blocked the door, giving Qui-Gon a narrow eyed look. “I’ve one question. I saw you, and Master Yoda, and I want to know who the third man is.”

Qui-Gon blinked. Of all the inquiries he would have expected, that was not it. “Mister Lars, he is an acquaintance, who had his own reasons– ”

“Was or was that not Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Lars snapped.

He had found over the years that diplomacy could lead to some fantastically believable lies under the oddest circumstances. He had no idea how this man knew his former padawan, but his mouth was already open and moving. “Unfortunately, no. Obi-Wan died years ago. This was a distant relative.”

A strange, bitter grief crossed Lars’ face. “Shit.” He staggered to lean against the desk, and he swiped a hand across his face. “Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to tell me my son was dead instead of a Sith?”

He gaped. “Your– ?” Well. That would explain some more of Venge’s desire to not encounter Anakin – or his family. “I had no idea,” he whispered, staring at the man and trying to see Obi-Wan’s features in the broad, weathered face.

What a bitter look he got in return. “Really, Master Jinn? I know you were his teacher.”

“I was not always as good at that as I might wish.” Force, he had trouble looking the man in the eyes. He took a deep breath, then straightened his shoulders and made himself meet Lars’s disdain. “I am so sorry. That was not Obi-Wan.” He couldn’t stop the pained look that crossed his face, but for the first time in a long while it was just pain, and not bitterness. “Would that it were. I swear on the Force, that was not your son.”

Cliegg studied him, a long, hard look. He could feel the sorrow and suspicion vibrating through the Force, before the man looked away, tears starting to flow down his face. “He was always Aika’s. Her looks, through and through. She named him, old family tradition, and when Owen – Owen remembers learning about his brother Ben, which was all he could pronounce, he was so little. I didn’t have the heart to tell him, with his brother gone away and his mother dead. As far as I know, he remembers they both died when he was young, and that is _all_. When I saw the ‘feed, I just...I’d hoped. All of you, and they were saying you were Sith, but they interviewed some Jedi and before it was all ‘No comment’ some of them said you were different. I’d hoped you’d brought him back.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “He’s – I witnessed his death myself. He’s not someplace I could fetch him back from, though I have spent the last five years wishing I could, that there was something I could do.”

“So you’re killing chancellors now instead.”

The Dark snapped at him, the anger and pained frustration coiling within and looking for a target, yet it was somehow a tiny bit easier to keep that leashed. “Palpatine was the Sith Lord that sent his apprentice to Naboo. Killing Obi-Wan’s murderers was-” _All I had left!_ “my responsibility.”

“Your responsi- little gods, Jinn. You’re telling me Obi-Wan was fighting _two of those things?”_

He wasn’t sure where he found the strength to not sag against the wall. “No,” he whispered hoarsely. “You- you don’t _know_?”

Cliegg Lars stared at him, equal incredulity stark on his face. “Of course I don’t fucking know. I know _Knight_ Obi-Wan Kenobi died with honor, and I’ve seen a bunch of strangers crying at his pyre.”

Somehow, Qui-Gon found words arising from his throat. “Naboo – he was still my padawan, when we went there, though he – he was to be knighted after. We were sent as diplomats, to resolve a trade dispute. We were not expecting war. We never expected Sith. It’d been –We’d thought them all dead, night terrors in tales.” Now the words caught, and he had to force them out. “Obi-Wan and I fought what I later found was a Sith apprentice. What you might have seen on the newsfeeds today – the apprentice was nothing compared to that monster. Yet Obi-Wan and I could barely keep up.” His eyes closed in that old shame, and though it was finally somewhat muted, _healing –_ Force help him, it still burned. “I took a rough blow. They got ahead of me. By the time I had caught up–” He shook his head and opened his eyes, making himself meet the other man’s judgmental gaze. “I saw the blow that took his life. I have spent the last five years taking apart in every last detail what I could have done, what I should have done. He was – he was brilliant, in that battle, and never have I had the honor or joy of having a better partner or student. His knighting was a formality, and he – he deserved so much more.”

For several long moments, he was judged. Then slowly, Lars nodded. “Thank you. It’s good to finally know.”

He knew he was pushing too far, that it was too soon, but he could not let it rest. It had been a rough, emotional day, and patience was far more a Jedi virtue than that of his experiences in the Dark. “How could you not?”

Force, that was clearly too much. Lars went still and narrow-eyed, then he turned away, hands clenched into fists. “You Jedi,” he snarled, before glaring back at Qui-Gon. “You Jedi live in some holy temple on a far off Coruscant, and you come out when things have gone pear shaped, or to walk among us looking for our children, and you claim we – and they – are blessed by the Force. We give up our sons and daughters and pray that we someday hear they have done great things, furthered peace and ended wars, that our grandchildren can hear their famous aunt or uncle died peacefully in their sleep. If we are _lucky_ , then we learn that a great name has died in service to the galaxy, and they had a lovely pyre and we might get a few seconds worth of video on a newsfeed. My son died, Master Jinn, and all I knew was that his pyre was on Naboo! _No one remembers the families!_

“I saw you there. Ani refuses to talk about it, and I don’t press him because damn it all, I’m _glad_ they didn’t want him!” Lars sagged back and wiped tears away. “I’m glad he won’t die alone, ‘mourned’ by you damned cold monks who don’t give a flying fuck about where those children came from, who loved them and wanted better things for them and we keep believing that you will fucking _care_ for them. You take them away from us, and we never hear from them again! Ani doesn’t know his brother died for him, and I prefer it that way, because it’s one less reason to chase that madness, die alone for who knows what, and word never gets back to my Shmi. And so help me, _Jedi_ , if you tell him– ”

“I am not a Jedi.”

“You were Jedi enough when my eldest died for them, and you were Jedi enough when you walked away from my youngest, and grateful as I am, that broke his heart.” Lars took a long, shuddering breath. “So tell me, Master Jinn, why I should allow you or Yoda to remain under my roof.”

For a long, long moment, Qui-Gon just breathed, touching the Force, and to his distant astonishment it was the Light side he so readily felt. “Do you know the biggest difference between the Jedi and the Sith?” He received a suspicious look and a head shake. “Which side of the Force they use.” He took in another deep breath, letting the Light side waft further through him. “Diametrical opposites. Jedi preach detachment, that to be just and righteous you must leave behind ties to anything other than the Force or the Order, which is presumed to be neutral yet supportive. Sith, however, don’t concern themselves with anyone or anything that doesn’t advance their goal of more power, and even that concern only lasts as long as the thing is useful. Detachment of a different sort.” This time, it was easy to meet Cliegg’s eyes. “Over the last week I have had it proven to me that the Dark side can – within reason – be safely used, but only if there is a countervailing force. Attachment. Love.” Another breath, and with the support of the Force, he spoke again. “The Jedi Order showed me the door five years ago. I was not a very good Jedi at the time. I have used the Dark side since then. I have survived it mostly intact only because I do care for your son. I never told him, since that is not what Jedi do, but I loved him.” He held up a hand, cutting Lars off before the man could sputter whatever it was that he had to say. “That in itself is no reason to let us remain here.”

“Damn right it’s not!”

“But Yoda and I hope we can find a middle path.” Oh, and the Force was _singing_ to him, coaxing the words out even though he had no plan, had not thought further than a few hours, perhaps a day in the future. “If we can prove that it works, that there are useful, valuable changes that can be made, by caring, _by being Attached_ – ” He looked Cliegg Lars in the face, and somehow, he smiled. “We can change the Jedi Order.”

He wasn’t sure how long Lars was watching him, judging him. But finally, at long last, the farmer straightened and nodded once. “Then I tell you what, Master Jinn. Let’s sit down like civilized people, you tell me about my son, we drink some alcohol in his memory, and tomorrow during your hangover you start doing whatever revolutionary thing it is you’re doing.”

It was strange, how easy it was to smile and shake the man’s hand. “That is a more than fair deal.”

* * *

He had to admit, he was surprised that a Jedi could hold his drink. Cliegg slowly walked away from the guest rooms he’d left Master Jinn at, soused and getting lectured by the small green fellow. Despite all the alcohol they had shared, it had been a sobering experience.

He paced into the kitchen, Shmi’s favorite domain, and she smiled gently at him. Food on a covered tray had appeared outside his study’s door with a single, subtle knock, and he’d presumed that while they might have been missed from the dinner table, it probably was better for Ani’s temper to let things cool down. He sat heavily in one of the chairs, and his wife came over to cuddle next to him.

Woman had a way both with words, and silence. She waited, patient as the suns, until he sighed. “You know I had two sons.” When she nodded, he looked down at his hands. “I know I’ve called him Ben. That was Owen’s name for him. I – he was five years older, and I wanted my boys to know – ”

Ah, hell, he was crying again. Shmi shared her handkerchief, and curled around the arm he wasn’t using to clear his face. “The Jedi took him before he was two.” She went very, very still. “We were in Republic space then, and I just – I missed farming. Aika... she was Sensitive, thought it was best for our boy, but I just did not want to stay where any more of my children...” Oh, he could see Shmi’s face, not just the compassion and slightly distant affection she always seemed to feel for his first wife, but now there was understanding, a new connection. “It wasn’t until the Stark War that I had any idea what happened. He fought in it, love. He – I saw Jedi on the newsfeed, and there was a little clip about the diplomats going to negotiate a peace. I saw my son’s name.”

“Who is he?”

“Was. He was Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The shocked hiss of breath in came with an incredulous look. “The Padawan. The one who– Oh no.” She stared down at the table, pale and wide-eyed. “Cliegg, I’m so sorry.”

He leaned back and patted her hand. “I never knew him.”

“Did Master Jinn have much to say about him?”

His smile was faint and sad. “As much as I could want, even if...” She nodded and turned her hand over to clasp his. “I told him that if you were all right with it, they could stay here for a while. They’ve a ship and nowhere to go, and Owen never minds some helping hands.”

Shmi was clearly considering how her son would take it, glaring at the table and nodding slowly. “I think...I think it’s more likely to be good for Ani in the long run. He tries to pretend he has nothing but disdain for the Jedi, but– ” She took a deep breath and met his eyes. “Is it hard for you? _Was_ it hard for you, that I wanted that for him?”

He gripped her hand tightly. “No. Jedi are heroes, haven’t you heard?”

They shared watery smiles, and she put her head on his shoulder, and they just sat for a while, needing each other’s company.

* * *

Ani had helped with the vaporators the day before, which meant he had the day free to do what he wanted. That usually meant taking the speeder out to Anchorhead or fussing with the droids – if something broke he typically had a good few hours of work that was an actual challenge.

Today, he stayed curled up in his room. Last night had been _awful_. Yoda had been...strange. He’d been _nice_. Not too nice, in the way folks did when they wanted something, or were being fake. Like...like he really was sorry. Like they were trying over.

He hated being pitied.

_Ugh, this is stupid._ He shoved himself up and pulled on somewhat clean clothes, then ambled out of the living area, only to come to a screeching halt as he entered the main courtyard.

There were two Jedi – _ex_ -Jedi – there. Yoda was perched on an old storage crate Mom used as a stool sometimes, and he’d _never_ seen the old troll look so disgruntled, so disgusted as he did that moment. “Easy enough, you would think this to be!”

Jinn was laughing softly as he walked over, shaking his head and reaching out to rest a hand lightly on Yoda’s shoulder. Something seemed _off_ about the Force around them, something strange he couldn’t pinpoint. “Perhaps if you used your anger at not being able to–”

Yoda glared up at him, and – oh _Force_. Amber light flared through his eyes, and for a moment the air around Ani rippled with a strange fury, which quickly subsided.

Qui-Gon didn’t flinch, and the more reptilian, bloodshot yellow of his eyes didn’t waver. “Overmuch, but it will do.” He turned, still with a small smile on his face, only to stop cold upon seeing Anakin. In a flash, the yellow was gone, and Jinn gave a small, stilted bow. “Good morning.”

“The fuck are _you_ doing?”

Yoda sighed and the amber glow to his eyes flickered out. “Forgotten I have, how difficult it is to learn new skills, and unlearning old ones.” He sent a glare at Jinn, and it might have been a joke; it was hard to tell. “Annoyance leads to the Dark side not at all, but a starting place it is. Strangely difficult it is, to reach for the Dark.”

Ani crossed his arms and glared at both of them. “‘Once you touch the Dark side, forever will it dominate your destiny,’ huh? Doesn’t sound like it’s doing much dominating to me.” He added a bit of a derisive sneer, then shook his head. “No, I meant what the fuck are you doing _here_?”

Jinn lowered a hand that had been covering an actual fucking grin. Good to know he’d wiped it off the man’s face. “Your parents were kind enough to invite us to stay for a while.”

“You’re joking.” They wouldn’t do that. _Cliegg_ wouldn’t do that.

Fuck, Jinn had that pitying look again. “Anakin, I would not lie-”

“Hah! How many people fall for that twice?” He stalked past them, heading towards the kitchen. His shoulders were back and stiff, and he wondered if Jinn knew how much he wanted to punch the man. He had to find Mom, and ask what the hell was going on, because this was crazy. There was no way even she would agree to something this insane.

One look at her face, and he realized how mad the world had gotten.

* * *

Qui-Gon sighed and turned away from the furious boy. He didn’t mean to have his hands clenched into fists, but even forcing them back open didn’t do anything for the emotions swirling around inside.

He was shaking. He sat down next to Yoda’s perch, back braced against the wall and arms resting upon upright knees.

His hands kept clenching in and out of fists.

Yoda reached down and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, letting a wash of Light side energy – affection, support, concern – seep into him. When even that did nothing, Yoda settled down with a small hum.

There was a bang of a door slamming closed, then Qui-Gon sensed a bundle of frustration with overtones of longing and resolve go hurtling out of the kitchen area towards the garage. A moment later, there was the roar of a speeder taking off at what was probably a much faster rate than either was usual or recommended.

His hands were back into fists again. He glared at them for a moment, then deliberately opened them finger by finger. Then he sighed. “What am I doing? Every time I see his fury with me, there’s a part of me that wants to praise him. A part of me judges his emotions, and declares ‘good, that’s a strong sense of anger, that will be powerful once he gets control of it.’” He buried his face in his hands, raking them back into his hair. “How is this not unequivocally Dark?”

Yoda was silent for a moment, eyes unfocused yet directed at the fleeing human. “Hmm,” he finally murmured. “Understandable it is, that feel this way you do, but the only feeling is it?”

Understandable? Understandable because he’d been marinating in Darkness for the last five years? Because he was teaching Yoda how to harness this power?

He shook his head, then closed his eyes and looked inside. “I...grieve for him. He hurts so much, Master. He should have been my padawan, and even with the best intentions in the universe I betrayed him. The Order betrayed him as well. _None_ of us have done anything but disrupt his life, dangle promises before him that were broken and hope that was shattered.” He finally looked up at Yoda, who was studying him with the serene exterior hiding a turmoil of emotions. “I...I wish to help him have something good in place of all that hurt, and all I can come up with is ways to help him use his anger.”

“Studying with Sith you have been for too long.” Yoda shook his head, then closed his eyes for a moment. “Failed him, the Jedi have, yes. Jedi ways and Sith ways are what you have learned. Yet one or the other is not the path you seek.” The old master opened his eyes, and for the first time that day his eyes glowed amber without the touch of Qui-Gon’s Darkness to spark it. “A middle path we must find. Meditate on this, we should.”

“I have not been able to do Light meditations for years.” He glared back down at his hands, feeling that old burst of pain flare through him, and this time he decided to release it into the Force. It took some work, some time, but it seemed to go correctly.

“Then practice, we must. In this, _your_ teacher I will be.” Yoda gave him a searching look, then smiled. “In mock combat you found peace, yes?” At his awkward nod, Yoda smiled. “Then try that we will, after traditional meditation. An easy life we have not chosen. Much learning there is to do!”

He was surprised that even as he stood, he had a tiny smile. Perhaps his master’s master had a point.

* * *

Anchorhead had sucked. None of the usual crowd had been there, and when Anakin had wandered by one of the cantinas, everyone had been huddled around the HoloNet receiver. He’d stuck around long enough to see that pretty much every news feed was showing the same thing.

Yoda. Jinn. Some angry guy he didn’t recognize. All three of them taking on the Chancellor, once Senator Palpatine from Naboo.

It was like one kick to the gut after another. There was video feed of the Chancellor getting decapitated, and he had to admit Jinn had shown some style on that. Then some explosion while dozens of Jedi came flooding into the base of the Senate dome.

Thankfully, it all turned into various beings documenting how the Senate was in an uproar, and the Jedi were being questioned about just what the hell had happened since, well, there’d been a lot of lightsabers flying around and everyone knew that was all their thing.

He left the instant the cameras lingered on the Senate pod from Naboo, some talking head rambling on about Senator Vancil's reaction. He seemed to be suffering a masochistic streak lately, but some things he got to just walk away from and ignore.

He made sure not to get home until after dark. Mom had left food for him in the warmer, like he figured. Since it was dark in the courtyard, he didn’t see the ex-Jedi until he’d gotten most of the way from the kitchen to the living areas. Anakin doubted they’d been there all day – what with the lack of serious sunburn and heatstroke and death – but they were seated across from each other, settled cross-legged with eyes closed.

They were surrounded by a constellation of almost two dozen objects; rocks large and small, bolts and mechanical debris that had somehow escaped the cleaning droid. They floated and swirled around the courtyard, some of them twirling independently, making trash into something breathtaking.

Ani could feel a pang in his heart, along with awe at the precision and control the two Force users were displaying. To sit, motionless, and direct the movements of all those little things –

He was pretty sure there were some instructors at the Temple that would have said this was impossible.

One of the smaller stones, about half the size of his fist, gradually swung into a new orbit that took it in front of him. It slowed as it approached him, like a tentative animal seeking to be petted. It also swung between him and Yoda, which alerted him to the fact that the old Master was watching him with glowing citrine eyes and a gentle smile, clearly inviting him to play.

The Force was singing to him as he raised his hand a little from the waist, reaching out. He could feel the swirl of energies between him and the rock Yoda was dangling before him, the dance of power coming from both Yoda and Qui-Gon, mingling to juggle all the objects as if they were notes in a song. Ani reached out towards the rock, curving his touch on the Force around it, merging his abilities with the greater dance, and for a moment it moved as he wanted, spinning around as he coaxed it further into its path.

It was the Force that was singing, to him, around him, how this was right and proper and where he belonged; open to it, channeling it, using it. For a moment, he let himself believe, eyes almost closed even as he was able to so readily perceive every last part of the dance.

Then he clenched his hand into a fist, stopping the pirouette of his rock. Who the fuck was he kidding. He was no Jedi. He let the rock drop and turned away, heading into his room. He shucked off his clothes and flopped down on the bed before curling up underneath the covers.

He remembered the crèche games, sitting in on some clan as a visitor to be included in their learning exercises. He remembered the crèche leader tossing out soft fabric balls to the younglings, some who could grab them with the Force, some who could not.

He remembered the looks when he’d reached out while barely moving his hands, and the fabric ball sailing towards him compacted into a crumpled ball.

He’d gotten private lessons in the most basic, baby stuff after that.

For all that, _he_ remembered. He was no Jedi.

* * *

Outside Anakin’s room, the dance stopped the moment the boy disappeared inside. Qui-Gon’s hands were clenched into fists again, eyes open as slits of sulphuric yellow. Yoda glanced over at him once, then sighed and brought the detritus to rest on the ground once more. By the time he was standing next to Qui-Gon, the human was visibly struggling to control the rage influencing his breathing. Deep inside, he sighed again. This was not going to be an easy or swift struggle.

Through the training bond, he sent a spark of gentle reproof, to which Qui-Gon glared up at him.

“Helpful, anger at Anakin’s situation may be, but self-hate is not.”

The man glared away. “I can’t...fucking...stand it. He was intrigued, he felt safe, at home. It felt _right_. Then he was screaming in the Force.”

“As if deeply wounded his soul is?” Qui-Gon’s eyes darted up to him, wounded in their own right. Yoda shook his head. “Much to do here, we have. Learn to use the Dark side, we shall. Help young Skywalker, we must.” He reached out and poked Qui-Gon in the chest. “Heal you as well, we should.”

Ahh, now the human seemed to understand. “You think both he and I are...wounded in the same way.”

“Lost faith in yourself, you have. Grieving for missed opportunities, you are. Hope, you have lost. Alone in your grief, you both think you are.” He patted the human on the shoulder. “You are not.”

The yellow flickered out of Qui-Gon’s eyes as he bowed his head, confused gratitude traveling across their training bond. Then he stood, unclipping his lightsaber from his belt. He did not ignite it, but he began going through the movements of his blade meditations. Yoda sat down, almost closing his eyes as he reached for the Force. Together, they meditated and sought peace.

* * *

Thankfully, the next morning there were no Force users in the courtyard.

Unfortunately, they were in the kitchen. Anakin kept his back to Jinn as much as he could, scarfing down his food as fast as possible. He had crops to poke at, plants to prune –

“Ani, Master Yoda was interested in seeing how the harvest is.”

Damn. He went still, then looked over at Mom. “Seriously?” Fuck, she was giving him a look. She was serious. “Mooom–”

“You can take Threepio with you when you do, he can help carry.” She was stating this as she was clearing plates, and she had the tone that meant there was no arguing – or that there would at least be no winning.

Mom cheated. She’d waited until he was almost done, so even hanging around and chewing really slowly wasn’t going to matter in the end. He settled for inhaling his food as quickly as possible, in hopes of rushing Yoda along – no luck, he was already waiting by the door.

Yoda stayed quiet as Ani rounded up Threepio – who more than filled the silence – but it was slow going between the old Jedi and, well, Threepio. By the time they were into the growing room, Yoda had quietly murmured something to the ever-helpful droid, who now carried him on his shoulder.

It was like they were ignoring him. Ani tucked his head down and went down the rows of plants, glaring at the vegetation, poking the harvest droids. If Yoda wanted so bad to know about things, then he could fucking well ask about them.

Of course he didn’t. Then Ani took a corner too fast, his foot clipping the growing table enough to sting. “Kriff sucking chubba!” he snapped, kicking the table once with his good foot. Then he froze, wide-eyed, and slowly turned to see Yoda, still perched on Threepio’s shoulder. The former Jedi Master was looking at him with lazy brown eyes, then he – grinned?

“Prefer ‘Kane a bar,’ I always did,” the old Master mused.

He blinked. Then Anakin blinked again. “Threepio?”

“Yes, Master Anakin?” the droid murmured in his stuffiest, politely scandalized tone.

“Did he just call me dung of a meat maggot?”

“Well,” the droid hedged, “yes. This _is_ based upon – ”

“I know, thanks.” He and Yoda kept looking at each other, until Anakin cracked up. “Please tell me you play sabacc; Cliegg keeps looking for a challenge!”

“Mmm, a long time it has been since I have played that. Perhaps see we shall, some other time.” Yoda gave him another grin before gesturing towards the rest of the crops.

Ani made it to the end of the row without the harvest droids needing any more adjustments, then as he turned he grinned. “What do you think of hufgeb hsicl merht?”

“Master Anakin!”

Yoda ignored Threepio’s yelp, and leaned forward. The rest of the harvest check, Ani only paid a bit of attention to poking the droids and making sure they hadn’t missed important yield – that was normal – and instead he and Yoda expanded their vocabularies. He’d thought he’d heard some choice phrases in the Mos Espa slave quarters, he _knew_ he’d found some fun new language on Coruscant, but Yoda seemed to delight in pulling out creative ways of insulting beings while telling them to go fuck themselves – or better!

They ended up sprawled at the edge of the growing room, sharing the smallest of the fresh vegetables they’d brought back. Threepio had been sent off with the container holding the rest, and Ani was just enjoying the quiet companionship.

He’d...missed this. Owen tried stupidly hard to be all adult, Cliegg didn’t know what to do with him, and Mom –

Well.

The racing folks at Anchorhead were decent enough, but he was still the new guy, even after a year of kicking their asses. He was willing to admit that might be part of the problem, but it wasn’t like he was going to _lose_ in some crazy attempt to get them to like him.

It bothered him, though. Yoda was sitting there, cheerful, joking, taking at least one swipe at his head with the cane when he’d cracked wise and tried to string together as many expletives as he could. The swipe – which missed – had been because it’d been lazy, apparently.

Yet splayed out on the floor, gasping from the bout of giggles that just would not stop, Ani had to wonder _why_. When he finally had control of himself, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked at Yoda. The old master looked back, curious but willing to wait.

“Why did you change your mind about me?”

“Change about what?”

He looked away. “From being the loudest voice calling me a menace to...well. Not.”

For a long moment, he thought he’d get the usual brush-off, the “when you’re older” crap. Then Yoda sighed, his ears angled low. “A revelation, Naboo was. Many, many unpleasant events occurred. After that battle, less Darkness there was around you. Realized I did that while Darkness had occurred _near_ you, Dark your actions were not.” He fidgeted with his cane for a moment, still not looking at Ani. “Wondered I did, if more of the Darkness I’d seen was the same. Realized much Darkness might be your Fate, but more than a witness, you might not be.” His head still bowed, he glanced up to stare deep into Anakin’s eyes. “A hard fate, that is. Even crueler of me it was, to judge you. Very sorry, I am. And...” He sighed, then shocked Anakin by reaching out a hand and gently placing it upon the human’s knee. “Even more sorry I am, for a hypocrite, I fear I was. Using the Dark side I now am, and you are not. Myself, some of the Darkness I sensed around you might have been.”

Anakin blinked down at the small being, wracking his brain for any smidgeon of Temple gossip about the last time _Yoda_ apologized, to anyone. He couldn’t find any recollection of the old master declaring he’d done something _wrong._ This was _Yoda_ , for Force’s sake; he _didn’t_ do wrong!

So he nodded once, trying to make it as casual as possible. For that he got a smile and a small pat to the knee. “So!” Yoda sounded cheerful, and not at all like he was trying to change the subject. “Time for my lessons it is.” Yoda got to his feet with a groan. “My thanks for the tour, you have. Most entertaining it was. Perhaps do this again, we can.”

“That’d be fun.” Anakin rolled to his feet, then hesitated. Yoda was tottering towards the door cheerfully enough, but it was clear the old master wasn’t going to make good speed. He walked over and cautiously held his near arm down in Yoda’s range, trying very, very hard to make it a casual offer. Yoda looked up at him for a moment, then smiled. With a small nod of thanks, he clambered up to Anakin’s shoulder, clawed feet tickling up his arm. When he was settled in place, clinging to Ani’s shirt with all apparent comfort, the human stood and rolled his shoulder to settle everything into place. “So, ah, you don’t mind getting the occasional lift?”

Yoda snorted and gave him a look. “When horribly laughing at me, Threepio is, than forever my dignity bruised shall be.” He was pretty agile for an old troll, hefting his cane and lightly thwaping Ani upside the head.

“Hey!” he laughed, palming open the door and blinking at the sudden daylight. “You ought to be nicer to your ride.”

He got a serene hum of acknowledgement, then a sly “Less insolent you should be, or complain your passengers shall.”

They snickered their way over to the crates Yoda seemed to like as a perch, but when Ani settled himself on one, Yoda remained clinging to his shoulder. After a strangely comfortable silence, Ani gave a one-shouldered shrug. “So what’s it like, using the Dark side?”

“Hmm.” He looked over to see Yoda’s head bowed in thought, eyes dark and almost closed. “Much like opening oneself to the Force, but it is not a deep, peaceful pool one finds. A hungry feline it is instead, and know not if it can be directed, or if consume you, it will.”

Ani blinked and looked away. “Then how do you keep it from eating you?”

“You give it a target, rather than orders.” Anakin jumped a little as Jinn emerged from the guest quarters. The old man was finally dressed in something other than black, and Ani was surprised at how the beige and tan made him look years younger. Jinn gave him a look and a small, tight smile. “You train it by teaching it where to go, rather than to do, or not do, certain things.”

“Huh. Nice duds, old man. Finally got tired of frying your brains?”

“Quite. Cliegg was willing to show me some of the more reputable stores in Anchorhead.”

“All two of them.”

Yoda hopped down off his shoulder, and Ani pulled away from the crates, giving the two ex-Jedi some space. The safe, comfortable feeling he’d had was gone now, leaving something hollow behind instead, but he wasn’t going to run. This was his home now, and they were the invaders. He leaned up against the wall, arms crossed and a skeptical expression firmly on his face. As Yoda looked increasingly frustrated until Jinn touched him and the yellow Sithy light came into his eyes, Ani figured he’d at least get some entertainment out of the whole fucking mess.

* * *

It was not quite dawn, and Qui-Gon was failing once again to meditate. He sat back with a frustrated huff, arms crossed and glaring at the floor. He’d hoped that given a bit of time, working with Yoda and the Light side, it would come back to him.

Obviously, it wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He sighed and stepped out of the guest quarters, closing the door behind him. It was still early enough that Yoda was sleeping, and it should give him time for some blade–

Anakin was in the courtyard again. He was surprised; Anakin had shown no sign of being a morning person. Although, given the way the boy looked over at him, expression a little too sharp with the wide-eyed glare of the over-caffeinated, it was possible he’d simply not bothered with sleep the night before. Anakin had disappeared sometime after another awkward dinner with the Lars family, but Qui-Gon had heard sounds of recalcitrant machinery being beaten into submission during conversation with Cliegg later.

“Good morning.”

Anakin grunted some kind of a greeting back at him. He started to look away, then he tried to recover by giving Qui-Gon a glare. “How often are you two doing Force shit?”

“As often and as long as possible.” He moved over to a clear space, igniting his lightsaber and going through a few limbering stretches. Clearly he was not going to get in any sort of meditation this morning, but he was a little surprised to find he didn’t resent it. “I’m learning just as much as Master Yoda is. I have an understanding of the Dark side that he does not, while he’s probably forgotten more about the Force than I’ve ever known.” He cautiously started a kata, moving at half speed as he let his thoughts catch up. “We’re working together to refine, or _change_ how we think of the Force. He is expanding my views, while I...I find I don’t have to worry about _twisting_ him with my knowledge.”

“Twisting? Really? Melodrama much?”

“You would not believe how much I’ve been accused of that lately.” Anakin had quite the eloquent snort for that. “It...is not as much of a stretch as I would wish, however.” His blade movements became a bit more brusque. “At the Temple, did you ever hear of Xanatos?”

“Er, wasn’t he some Dark user? I think there were some cautionary tales going around the crèche, but that was for the real little kids.”

“Horror stories for the younglings? Already?” His voice was calm, dry as the rest of the planet, but his knuckles were white and he _knew_ his eyes were blazing.

“Already?”

“He was my first Padawan.”

Well. That was apparently what it took to silence Anakin. He got through several more steps of the kata before he glanced over. The boy was watching him with caution, wary as a young predator unexpectedly in the presence of a much larger, much older one. “What happened?”

“He went mad. He wanted power. It’s possible– ” His throat seized for a moment. “It’s possible that he was _driven_ mad, but whatever the cause...” He sped up his blade movements to a normal pace, ending in a lunge. “I went to fetch him back to Coruscant. He chose to jump into a pool of acid instead.”

“Uh...that sucks.” It was Qui-Gon’s turn to snort. “Who else?”

“What?” He turned in surprise, not sure what the boy could possibly mean.

Anakin shrugged, not quite willing to meet his eyes. “Congratulations, you got the short straw. That sucks. If you’re “twisting” people, who else? ‘Cause one example doesn’t cut it. It’s all just melodrama.”

“You’ve quite the diplomatic turns of phrase.”

“Bite me. Who else, Master Melodrama?”

To his somewhat distant astonishment, Qui-Gon found the boy’s attitude amusing rather than entirely juvenile. He restarted the kata at a more normal speed. “My Master, Dooku, was serving the Dark side by the time you and I first met. He’d been working for Sidious for at least – ”

“Wait wait _wait_ , you’re saying you, a former Padawan, did something so Dark your _Master_ switched sides? How the _hell_ does that work?” As Qui-Gon slowed down to a halt, once again gaping at the boy, Anakin tossed his hands up in the air. “Your Master’s responsible for you, not the other way around!”

“Which of us is supposed to be melodramatic, here?”

“ _And_ that’s totally ignoring that you are _not_ a Padawan, you’re a fully grown old guy who had padawans of your own. So let’s say this is a real thing. How does Obi-Wan fit in?”

Qui-Gon disengaged his lightsaber, not sure if he felt dizzy or if the Force was trying to tell him something. “He...died. The Sith– ”

“Yeah, who you totally hired, or were responsible for, or trained. Remind me how that works again?”

He shook his head slowly. “I... _I_ Fell.”

“Yeah, and you got better.”

“That is _hardly –_ ”

“Wait, wait, I learned this thing once.” Anakin sat up, giving Qui-Gon a narrow-eyed glare. “How’d it go? ‘Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to the Dark side.’ Yeah, I think that was it.” Anakin glanced over at the now open door to the quest quarters, where a wide-eyed Yoda stood. “So how’s this whole fear of the Dark side thing working for you?” The boy stood up with surprising grace, glaring at Qui-Gon the whole while. “Master ‘I am weak and don’t want to kill off my padawan,’ go fuck yourself. You’re a coward. You ran away, and it wasn’t to avenge your student, it wasn’t to keep other people safe, it was because you were too fucking scared to do anything else.” Anakin turned and stomped off, slamming the door to his quarters.

Yoda closed their door much more quietly, shuffling over to a gaping Qui-Gon. “Missed something important, I did?” the old Master asked, voice faint and stunned.

He nodded slowly. “Yes, you did. As did I.”

* * *

It took a ridiculous amount of time to get the whole story out of Qui-Gon. Their original plans for the day clearly had been rearranged, so Yoda settled himself for his own meditations as the human went through some rigorous blade meditation – the most pensive expression he’d ever seen on a human making it rather clear it was not going well.

The biggest problem he saw was that he had no idea what to do. If they were still taking the Jedi way, it would be easy enough. He could tell Qui-Gon to simply release that fear into the Force. Oh, it was always easier said than done, but at least they knew the approach.

If they were following the Dark side, then it would be simple advice to embrace it.

That...had not worked too well so far. Yoda set himself to trying to find their middle path, quietly thankful that Anakin had seen what he himself had not.

* * *

The Dark...had been everything. For painfully long years, he had been steeping in the Dark side of the Force.

He had been terrified of it. Every time he used it, he could feel something inside himself screaming, withering away. Eventually, there was just that scream, always echoing inside, fading into background noise, fear that fed the Dark side he used.

Qui-Gon had reached out to Yoda because he’d needed something other than a few, fragile memories to keep himself sane. If the Light still existed, he needed to reach out and find it. If he could defy Dooku, send reports to Yoda about the Count’s movements, then perhaps there was a reason to hold on.

He’d been so afraid. With every new lesson, every new technique Dooku had taught, he’d wondered if this time, he had lost too much. If this time, it would be the final straw that would tip him over. If he would Fall, and be Dooku’s Apprentice in truth.

He would lose Obi-Wan. That singularly clear, bright point in his life would be gone, as if Obi-Wan had never been, for why would a Sith care about a former, failed padawan? Anakin had been very right, in his blunt, ineloquent way. Qui-Gon had been running away. Yet for all that, his worst fears had already been realized. He _had_ lost Obi-Wan, back on Naboo. He had Fallen, become some kind of Sith, even if he had not committed the whole way.

Venge had shown him that it didn’t matter. He had made it painfully clear that love had anchored a full blown Sith; that because of his Qui-Gon, Venge could hold onto Light even in the heart of Darkness.

Death...had not altered how Qui-Gon felt about Obi-Wan. It had added remorse and some painful undertones, but at the core of it, there was indeed love. He’d loved the man for years, hells, he’d loved him for years even before Obi-Wan had died. Death had not changed that, and it didn’t look like it was going away any time soon.

He’d never trusted the emotion. He had lost too many, seen too much, believed that somehow, his touch had Darkened anything around him. If, perhaps, he could _trust_ it instead... If he actually believed it would...would support his weight, that it would carry him when he needed it to...

Maybe he could finally stop being afraid that the emotion would break and vanish. Perhaps there was stable ground beneath his feet, after all.

* * *

They made half-hearted attempts towards lessons, but it was quickly clear that neither of them were going to make much progress. When Shmi asked them to assist in some errands later in the afternoon, Qui-Gon was quite glad to take the excuse to stop.

Anchorhead was a small town, if one was being generous. Shmi was a woman on a mission, leading the two former Jedi in thorough circles as she haggled for boxes of – he had no idea what, but she looked quite pleased both with her purchases, and the fact that Qui-Gon could carry a lot of them.

Yoda’s role was apparently moral support, which he took with far too much good humor.

Shmi only slowed when they got back to the speeder. As she and Qui-Gon were arranging her purchases in the vehicle’s bed, she kept glancing over to the north side of town. Finally, she turned towards him, an oddly ashamed look on her face. “I wonder if I might impose for another favor, Master Jinn.”

“Of course.” He straightened, wondering at the strange feel of her in the Force – she was anxious, but not to the point of actual worry. There was a sense of wry resignation to her as she met his eyes.

“There’s always a...group of dissatisfied youth in farming communities like this. Around here, folks end up on the far side of town, getting into trouble with each other, speeder bike competitions, the like. I’ve made it clear to Ani I don’t want to catch him getting into more trouble with them.” He raised a brow and Shmi looked away with a tiny smile. “If you wouldn’t mind discreetly making sure he’s not being _too_ reckless, I would appreciate it very much.”

Blast it, not only was Yoda grinning at him, Qui-Gon could not contain a small smile of his own. “I would not mind in the least.” He didn’t wait to see if Yoda would follow – that was _Yoda’s_ problem, not his.

His steps were astoundingly light as he prowled over to the far side of town, changing his stride and body language to match a bored, disinterested out-of-towner inflicted with some familial necessity to visit. It was the memory of Venge’s scowling protectiveness and concern that buoyed him; a strange expression of – yes, he could admit it – of love. It was so strange how comforting he found it.

Qui-Gon slowed to a halt near one of the small buildings on the periphery of Anchorhead. There were perhaps a dozen and a half beings, mostly human, gathered around several speeder bikes, arguing heatedly about something he could not quite make out. Anakin stood in the middle of the group, his gestures animated but restrained, his body language confident to the point of cocky. Interestingly, it seemed that whatever point he was trying to make had some headway, and several of the beings his age turning away in resigned disgust.

Two others, however, took that as greater reason to press their point. One of them, a well-dressed heavier set human, ended up snarling in Anakin’s face. The boy simply held his scornful look, then stepped back only to gesture towards some of the speeders in a sarcastic, showy way that some native-born Coruscanti must have taught him.

Yoda had either decided to get Qui-Gon’s attention, or that he wanted a better perch. It had to have been a discreet Force leap, landing the small Master on his shoulder. Qui-Gon staggered a little at the sudden weight, but he quickly shuffled back into the shelter of the building’s shadow.

The older, heavier youth snarled back at Anakin, then stumped over to the only speeder bike that didn’t look like a well-worn repair job. It wasn’t new, but it had bold enough colors and looked well maintained. Several others hopped on to speeders, while Anakin strolled over to the battered one parked to the side – possibly one of the ones he’d been gesturing too. Even from this distance, when Anakin started the motor, Qui-Gon could hear the difference. No matter what kind of a junk heap it looked like – and he suspected that much like the pod the boy had raced long ago, it was entirely built by his own two hands – the engine was sound and the design looked solid.

The group set themselves up with practiced efficiency, the five mismatched speeders lining up with each other while the spectators huddled around the sides. A Rodian stepped up and counted off to the start, leaping out of the way as the speeders tore away on what looked to be a well-traveled course.

Anakin was a joy to watch; he was in a league all his own and well above the locals. He handled his speeder deftly, hanging back a little to let the rest of the pack sort itself out. The heavyset teen was trying to take the lead with the intent to keep it. The rest jockeyed with each other for a bit until there was a loud bang – judging from the lack of surprise in the spectators, this wasn’t too unusual – and one of the speeder bikes peeled off in a cloud of smoke.

As the two other midway racers took a few moments to watch the departing vehicle, Anakin gunned his speeder, leaning forward over the handlebars. By the time the two looked back to the course, Anakin was almost upon them.

Qui-Gon expected the two racers to peel apart, giving Anakin more than the half meter he had of space available between them. Instead Anakin twisted, rolling his body then the speeder around. With the repulsors aimed skywards, his bike dropped down at what had to be a dizzying rate. Qui-Gon was reaching out, frantically trying to settle himself enough to use the Force before the fool could splatter his brains all over the sands.

Instead, the bike stopped falling with a heavy whine of other repulsors kicking into high gear. Anakin’s hair skimmed the ground, his bike now just low enough that the belly scraped lightly against the sides of the other two vehicles. At the screech of metal and Anakin’s wild laugh, the other racers finally pulled away, one with startled curses, the other clenching their handlebars tight enough to make the bike swerve right off the course, and out of the running.

Another twist of his body, and Anakin rolled back upright, his bike bobbing a little as the repulsor fields traded off, then he gunned the engine again. He was now in serious pursuit of the leader, who was either ignoring the acrobatics behind him, or he hadn’t seen them in the first place.

“Use the Force, he did not,” Yoda whispered to him. Qui-Gon lowered his arm, blinking rapidly and beyond grateful that Yoda sounded as flabbergasted as he felt.

“I think Shmi should not be hearing about this,” he added, voice faint and a little shaky.

Yoda made a quiet, agreeing noise.

With an almost clear track ahead of him, Anakin was not holding back anymore. His speeder roared past the heavyset youth, curving around to come to a sand-blasting halt back among the spectators. There were the whoops and applause, but it was clear to Qui-Gon that it was restrained, limited. Anakin took it good naturedly, with a cocky grin and a swagger, but he stood out from the others, apart from them. He’d been here for almost a year, yet the locals still thought of him as Other. Nonetheless, the boy made a good attempt of it, boasting and posturing along with the rest.

Before they went back to Shmi, it did not escape Qui-Gon’s attention that Anakin never once glanced in their direction. He kept a wary eye on his surroundings, well aware of the other youths – including two who tried, and failed, to give him some quasi-friendly jostling from behind. It could be no more accident than the way Anakin flaunted his physique for some of the others in the crowd, scruffling the sand out of his hair while flashing them a roguish grin.

* * *

Anakin had to give the old man and Yoda some credit; they knew how to keep their mouths shut way better than Owen. Mom hadn’t said one cranky word about racing, so they had apparently decided not to tell her. Given that, when he ended up sprawled in the courtyard when all sane beings would be inside seeking shade, he didn’t poke too much.

He also didn’t want to piss the old man off too much. Anakin hadn’t put all the pieces together when Qui-Gon had talked about his old master, but the news feeds – once they’d finished salivating over Palpatine’s vivid demise – had spent some time blathering on about the mysterious death of one Count Dooku, former Jedi, in some building-wide explosion that showed signs of being intentional. There’d been some speculation that Palpatine’s death was linked to Dooku’s, but no one could find any connection.

Anakin wasn’t sure if it was spooky, or creepy as _fuck_ that he was sure Qui-Gon fucking Jinn had been behind both deaths.

Yoda let out some combination of syllables he _knew_ he’d have to ask about later, then turned to glare at Jinn. Once again, his eyes had stopped with the Sithy glow. As Jinn shut down his lightsaber – and it was still several shivers worth of creepy to see an honest to fuck Sith colored lightsaber – Ani could not keep quiet any longer.

“The hell are you two _doing_?”

Yoda was _sulking._ It was hilarious. Jinn stepped over to him, resting his fingertips along the old Jedi’s shoulder. A moment later, Yoda reopened his eyes, with the glow, which he used to good effect to glare over at Ani. “Some help I need, to touch the Dark side.”

“Forever dominate your destiny, huh?”

Yoda grumped at him, then turned back to the rocks they were Force tossing around the courtyard like crazy Jedi jugglers. The old man, however, came to lean up against the wall next to him. “Find darker emotions strange, I still do. Difficult it is to not release these emotions automatically. Very frustrating it is!”

“You’re really telling me that in a billion years – ”

“Eight hundred sixty-eight!”

“ – you never found something to _hate_?”

“Learned long ago, I did, to release that into the Force. Old habits, I am trying to change – ” The glow flickered out, and Ani picked up a few more syllables he’d have to remember.

Jinn sighed a little, but it was more a fondly exasperated sound than pissed and fed up. Again with the little walk, the touch, the retreat back against the wall.

“So...what, you feel angry in his direction?”

Jinn snorted. “I don’t have trouble touching the Dark side.” Wow. He could maybe have been drier, but Ani couldn’t figure out how. “I’m...sharing that with him, giving Master Yoda a spark, so to speak, that he can build upon. Physical contact seems to help; the training bond doesn’t seem to be a reliable source of emotion.”

Ani blinked. “Whoa. What’s it like being Yoda’s padawan?”

Whuh-oh. Jinn blinked a few times, then looked away, as shifty as a smuggler. _No. Way._ Ani couldn’t restrain a cackle. “No way! Yoda’s _your_ padawan?”

“Not...exactly. It’s more complicated than that.” The Force trilled at him, quiet and sharp, and his hand came up to catch a slow Force-flung rock heading in his direction. He looked at it for a long moment, then he was keenly aware of how Jinn’s hand hovered above his shoulder, almost coming down in a reassuring pat.

Good for everyone, he didn’t. Instead, Jinn gave an amused snort, just a little forced. “I think, given how this is going, we would benefit from Anakin sticking around and helping. What do you say?” He smirked just a little over at Yoda, the expression just a hint Dark and sharp. “Will you help ‘my padawan?’”

More curses, and another Force-tossed rock came their way, this time at normal speed. It missed by a klick, but it made up his mind. Anakin shrugged, trying to look casual. “Don’t have anything better to do.”

It was fun, in a strange way that made him feel hugely uncomfortable. He wasn’t about to _run_ from it or anything, but he was glad when Cliegg came looking for him, the Theta vaporator having started to toss fits _again_.

Of course, this was the Theta vaporator, which was a huge old monster of a machine, which meant Ani needed some brawn. He had no idea how Jinn got picked as the spare set of hands for him, but one way or another, they ended up wrestling the damned thing together, then Jinn stuck around, passing him parts and equipment as necessary.

It was quiet, almost comfortable. Of course, that meant he kept finding himself looking over at Qui-Gon, wondering when the man would say or do _something_ that made some sense. When it didn’t happen, he’d either go back to almost being comfortable, or trying to figure out what the game was.

He was beyond grateful when it was dinnertime. The vaporator was all set to go back into production, but surely family meal time would solve things.

Yoda was over his sulk. Jinn was _pleasant_. It all jangled on Ani’s nerves as wrong, wrong, weird and _wrong_.

* * *

Qui-Gon felt rather pleased with life as the last of the food disappeared, and Cliegg excused himself to deal with the now-fixed vaporator. Anakin had obviously been wrestling with _something_ while helping Yoda with the Dark lessons. The boy had been quite the asset at poking holes in Yoda’s serenity...and lack thereof. Both of them had seemed to benefit from it. Then Cliegg had meddled, tossing him and Anakin into the repair garage and basically running out the door. For all that, the afternoon had been pleasant, the two of them working well together to repair the machine. It had been a joy to see Anakin at work with machines; his natural talents led to him smoothly diagnosing problems and working to fix them before Qui-Gon had even the vaguest idea what might be wrong.

“Sooooo.” Oh, Force. Owen had shoved his plate to the side and was looking at Anakin with a predatory expression – not quite the look of a bully, but Qui-Gon had seen plenty of obnoxious older siblings ready to pounce. Before he could come up with an adequate diversion, Owen leaned back and smirked at the younger man. “Danica told me you were doing some crazy stunts with the swoop wannabes last night.” Shmi and Yoda both went still, probably trying to come up with their own diversions.

Anakin’s eyes narrowed, then he snorted. “Yeah? Well, Beru told me she’s looking around for a new boyfriend. I think Huff might be open to something other than losing.”

Owen’s jaw clenched, and he half rose from his chair. “Watch it, shrimp– ”

“Oh shut _up_ you fucking hayseed!”

“Ani!” Shmi’s clipped rebuke made both her children snap around to look at her. “Don’t talk to your brother like that!”

“Dammit, he’s _not_ my brother, how many times do we have to have this stupid talk?”

“Anakin...” Her voice trailed off in a warning tone that was almost a growl.

“Oh come on!” Anakin lunged to his feet, his chair sliding back with a muted squeal against tile. “You can’t even say who my _father_ is, what the hell makes you think I’m going to call this dewback my brother?”

“Do _not_ talk to Mom that way!” Owen was white-faced, his expression pinched as he lunged to his own feet.

“ _Mom_ _?”_ Anakin half roared, and Qui-Gon found himself almost hunching in his chair, wondering a little desperately if there was any diplomatic way to flee a family argument. From the flattened look of Yoda’s ears, it seemed that he was considering ducking for cover under the table. Then something _poked_ at Qui-Gon, the Force almost hissing as something strange started to stir and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. “Fuck off asshole, she’s not your mom! You shut the hell up and stay out of this!”

“Anakin Skywalker, you stop this right now! This is _shameful_ behavior, you are so much better than this– ”

“Oh, and when has that _ever_ mattered?”

“Ani, you matter a great deal, you are– ”

“DO NOT FUCKING START WITH THAT DESTINY CRAP!” Anakin stood with hunched shoulders, hands clenched into fists, eyes almost–

_No..._ Qui-Gon shook his head, not believing it, not daring to consider –

Owen lunged across the table, almost grabbing Anakin by the arm. The younger boy twisted away, glaring as Owen snapped, “I _said_ don’t _talk_ to – ”

Darkness _flared_ , sending Owen stumbling back. Qui-Gon was moving before he realized it, and a moment later there was a _thud_ as he shoved Anakin up against the wall, arms pinned and both of them with eyes blazing yellow. It was instinct; nothing rational, nothing controlled, that had his abilities with the Dark side reaching out, wrapping around Anakin’s nascent but _powerful_ Darkness and pinning it just as he had done with the boy.

There was a moment of breathless, stunned silence. Anakin’s Darkness flared once, shoving against Qui-Gon’s control, then died, the faintly red-tinged amber of his eyes fading to a horrified, then furious blue. He shrugged Qui-Gon off easily, the former Jedi stumbling back in shock. He’d just – this _boy–_ Gods. He was responsible for this.

“Fuck you,” Anakin spat, shoving past Qui-Gon. When Shmi made a small, protesting noise, Anakin hesitated. Then his expression hardened. “Fuck _all_ of you.” He stormed out, shouldering past a baffled Cliegg at the end of the hall.

The slamming of the door made them all jump. Qui-Gon looked over at Yoda, the two of them sharing appalled glances, then a tremendous _shove_ came through the training bond. Qui-Gon turned and hurried out of the room, hearing Yoda calmly, soothingly start to talk, coming up with...some sort of explanation.

* * *

Anakin stumbled out of the front door, letting it shut behind him as he staggered away from the entry dome. He made it a few meters before his legs gave out, dropping him down to his knees.

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK._ He clenched his hands into fists around sand, head down and determined that _he would not cry_. This was it. He finally had irrevocable proof.

He’d gone fucking _Dark_. To fucking hells with Jinn’s crazed theories, he’d – He’d just–

Fuck, he was crying. He curled forward, holding on to sand, feeling the last of the day’s heat bear down him. He didn’t know why the hell he kept _hoping_ , why he kept listening, when all there was were yet more _lies_. Mom was so damn certain that he had some sort of destiny, some _calling_ , and he’d thought the Jedi were it. It had felt incredible in the Temple, when he’d been able to sneak off to one of the side gardens and meditate. The Force had been a warm, singing presence that made it clear this was right, this was where he belonged. Fuck the Jedi, fuck the doubters, the Force had told him loud and clear that _he belonged there_ , that using the Force was what he was meant to do. He had been able to feel that. He had been certain. It wasn’t destiny; it...had just been right. Yes, he loved piloting, he lived for work with mechanicals, but the Force–

The Force felt _right_. Using it, opening up to it, it had been easy as breathing, and if the Temple hadn’t been filled with fucking _idiots_ who were–

Who were right. Certain that he’d go Dark. Fuck.

“Why do you keep lying to me?” He hunched over tighter, not caring that there would be no answer, not when he kept his connection to the Force as minimal as possible, leaving it the fuck alone after it kept being _wrong_. It didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter; he would never be a Jedi. Even with some bullshit mystical _thing_ insisting that moisture farming was not his destiny, he’d had the Jedi Order’s scorn and fear shoved into his face so many times that he’d finally had to accept that they were right, that he would never be one of them.

The Dark had felt amazing. It had been like flying.

It left him shaking, terrified.

Yoda had said it was like a beast, hungry and fierce. For a moment, he had let himself _feel_ , instead of ignoring so much and pretending that everything was fine, all he needed was a few moments to let it all go into the Force. For a moment, he’d let the anger and fear loose, and it was no untamable monster, it was something glorious and wild and he would not let Owen tell _his_ Mom, or him, or anyone what to do. Not Owen, not Jinn, _no one_ , and okay, sure, the ride he was piloting was overpowered, maybe a _little_ too much to handle, but he almost had it, really –

Jinn putting him into the wall, taking over the helm –

He’d felt how out of control it really was. He’d gone fucking _Dark_.

He wasn’t sure when Jinn arrived. All he knew was that sometime later, with the quick chill of night setting in, there was a source of warmth next to him. There was the faintest almost-brush of a leg against his from someone kneeling at his side.

“Go away.” He didn’t look up, but he _knew_ the old man would hear him, muffled as it was. “You’re good at that, _Master_ Jinn. Go the fuck away. Leave me alone.”

“Not this time. You were right, you know. I’ve spent too much time running away.” The silence kept going, until Jinn sighed. “If I had returned, if... If I had asked you, before you aged out, would you have wanted to be my padawan? My history with padawans is bad enough, but after I’d been gone for years – you would have been quite right to tell me where to take that offer.”

“Yeah, and there were masters lining up for the opportunity to take me on.” Ani slowly pulled himself upright a bit, still hunching forward to rest his arms across his legs but no longer trying to breathe sand. He didn’t look at the old man. “I tried to be a good Initiate. Yes Master Jinn, thank you Master Jinn – ”

“‘Go fuck yourself, Master Jinn’ would have been eminently more reasonable.”

He almost laughed, a near-sobbing choke of sound. “I was supposed to be a Jedi,” he whispered. Fuck, he was crying again. He hoped Jinn couldn’t tell. “The Force kept telling me, I’m not some farmer, there’s something right about using the Force, but...”

Jinn’s hand settled on his shoulder, light and uncertain. “Anakin...Is it telling you that you should be a Jedi, or that you should use the Force?”

“The fuck is the difference? Sure, they say you can walk another path if you ‘choose’ which is bullshit, it’s all ‘serve the Order the way we decide or get the fuck out’ – but anyone in the galaxy who’s not a Jedi, but using the Force?” He snorted and tried to swipe his face a little bit cleaner. “Anyone with a bit of sense is going to be getting hold of the Jedi real damn quick when they see that. The Jedi are supposed to police that sort of thing.”

He could feel the stillness to Jinn, and a part of him desperately wanted to open up to the Force, to _feel_ what sort of reaction the old man had to that. But after a moment, Jinn took a deep breath. “I...had never looked at it that way.”

“Lemme guess. You were one of the ones that got called in to investigate shit like that?”

“Sometimes, yes.” Jinn sounded disturbed, though. He took another deep breath. “Pretend for a moment that there is a difference. What is the Force telling you?”

For a moment, he fought the urge. The problem with using the Force was that it seemed to be even more addictive than spice, and he’d been tapping into it lately, letting himself _feel_ it…

…Fuck. He opened himself to the Force, and winced. It hadn’t been this loud in a long time, swirling around him and insistent that yes, this was _right_.

“There’s nothing about the Jedi.” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck even the fucking _Force_ had given up on that, admitted that he wasn’t a Jedi.

Jinn made some kind of wounded noise, and the hand on Anakin’s shoulder trembled. “Someone should have seen this. The Order...is rather broken, isn’t it.” Anakin couldn’t figure out what the hell Jinn meant by that, but he was _not_ going to look at the man. “Anakin, they – _we_ have done you a great disservice.” The hand traveled lightly to his far shoulder, cautious and tentative. Then Jinn was right there, wrapping around Anakin in an awkward hug. For a moment, he stayed still, but since it didn’t fucking matter, he finally leaned into it.

It was damn clear Jinn had no idea how to give a hug, but he was large and warm and...and trying, and Anakin just felt so fucking _tired_. Even the Force had given up on him being a Jedi.

Weirdly, Jinn didn’t seem to mind just sitting there, somewhat hunched over and letting Ani dribble tears on his robe. That was good, since he couldn’t seem to stop for ages. When he finally did, and unthinkingly swiped his face clear of tears and snot on the same robes, the old man didn’t even blink. He just let Ani take the lead, the two of them staggering up and into the entry dome. It was late by then, only the dim safety lights on as Jinn helped him down to his room. Ani was too fucking tired to pay much attention – the important thing was that no one was around, so the apologies that he needed to make and already made him feel hollow, could wait. He paused just long enough to kick off his boots and peel his tunic away, tossing it aside before flopping down onto his bed and praying he went unconscious fast.

That, at least, seemed to work.

* * *

Morning came on slow, almost like normal. He wasn’t entirely awake when he rolled over, but he was coherent enough that seeing Jinn in a meditative pose over by his door only made him blink.

Okay, a lot.

“I thought Yoda said you couldn’t meditate that way,” he declared at last, trying to scrub his eyes clear. Guh, he felt like he’d cried half his weight in water the night before.

“I can’t, but that won’t stop Yoda from demanding I make the attempt anyways,” Jinn retorted, not even opening his eyes.

“Okay, but can’t you do that elsewhere? It’s fucking creepy to wake up to.” He sat up and blinked a few more times. “Wait, what the hell are you doing in my room?”

_Now_ Jinn looked at him. It probably wasn’t a good sign that the old man looked sheepish. “Your mother wanted to make sure you didn’t get the wrong idea and think everyone was irritated with you.”

“Irritated. Right.” Memory was creeping back at last, and he ducked his head. Fuck. He’d – Wow, Owen was sure to be pissed.

_Mom_ had probably been pissed for a while too.

A mug of tea appeared under his nose. He looked up at Jinn, who was holding it and looking like he could be patient forever. “Thanks,” he sighed, taking it and chugging down the liquid. He waited for it to kick in, then he blinked and looked up. “Fuck, please tell me I haven’t had someone waiting in here all night.”

“Most definitely not.” Jinn made a face. “She told me to take the tea, wait somewhere I thought reasonable, and the excuse because she felt quite sheepish about the whole matter.”

“I’m not a child. I don’t need to be babied.” He glared down at the mug.

“Of course not. Nor are we doing so.”

“Also, that is not a reasonable place to wait.”

“Is there somewhere you’d prefer me to wait while you drink your tea?”

“No, just...don’t do that again. _Ever._ ” Anakin blinked and leaned down, resting his forehead on the cup’s rim.

The fight with Owen. Fighting with Mom.

The Dark.

The Force had given up on him as a Jedi.

Fuck.

He could feel his shoulders hunch further, and he forced them back. He. Would. Not. Cry. Not again, not about this, and most certainly not in front of Jinn. He took a few breaths more, until he felt steady enough to look up. “So what’s your excuse to be here, instead of Mom?”

The tall man took a deep breath, then gave Anakin a formal bow, dropping gracefully down from the bow to his knees. It had the look of some sort of ritualistic gesture, which had Anakin sitting up straighter in response at once. Qui-Gon looked up and met his eyes. “Anakin Skywalker, I wish I could make a formal apology to you. I am no longer a member of the Jedi Order, which has done you great wrong, but so have I, and at least some of it was when I did belong there. Your training was neglected. Your future was assured, then denied to you. Your well-being after that was grossly ignored. Though I am no longer a part of the Jedi Order, I am source of much of this, and for the harm I have done you, I apologize.”

Anakin looked away, trying to neither blush nor cry. When he could finally look back, Qui-Gon was still in the same position. “Yoda and I do not make up a new order. We are not Jedi, and we will not be fully Dark users. For all that, we are Force users, and your presence is enjoyable and educational.” He took another deep breath, his shoulders going back as he looked Ani in the eyes. “I told you once that I would take you on as a padawan. I am no longer a Jedi. I am years later than I should have been. Yet if you wish, I would be honored if you would consider joining me in this mad venture Yoda and I are creating.” A small, sad smile flickered across his face for a moment. “We’re quite happy to apply any of the trappings you wish, but this is not about appearances. This is about a promise. Anakin Skywalker. I would be honored if you would accept me as your Master.”

Then the fucker waited. Ani sat there, blinking. “But I Fell,” he finally managed in a hoarse whisper.

Again, there was that faint smile. “I believe I need to point out that you got better.”

He was crying again, but laughing a little too. “Fucker. You always twist people’s words around on them?”

“If the lesson is valuable, and needs to be learned, then yes.” Qui-Gon’s smile went a little wider. “I do try to listen when someone teaches me a valuable lesson.”

“Valuable, huh?” He wasn’t sure what it was, this warm feeling building up inside, something tight in his chest unwinding.

“Exceedingly.”

“Oh, get up already.” He struggled out of bed as Jinn carefully stood. Anakin stood before the old man, both of them with shoulders back and a posture he remembered being second nature at the Temple. He held out his hand, and as Jinn took it, Ani nodded. “I would be delighted, Master Jinn,” he declared, deliberately choosing to not use the traditional ‘honored.’ “And I’ll save the ‘go fuck yourself Master Jinn’s’ for when you do something really stupid.”

It was a relief that the old man laughed as they shook hands. “That sounds like a very good bargain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless thanks to the brilliant Flamethrower, for letting us play with Venge (and in a sense in her universe), even as she wrangles our rabid adverbs.


	7. Chapter 7

Qui-Gon found himself feeling lighter with every bit of progress they made.

There were good days and bad, working through very strong personalities with old wounds that would take months or years to heal. Yoda sometimes still had trouble accessing the Dark side, and Qui-Gon would have to forcibly push his own Darkness away once he was done with it. Anakin was at times a volatile bundle of potential that had difficulty releasing his Darkness without assistance. The two former Jedi would spend hours, even weeks working out how to balance a technique before teaching it to Anakin, who was encouraged to add his own feedback on it. The boy seemed to have an absolute knack for the Dark side, adding an insight to all the time, patience, and experimentation they applied.

Yoda was the one guiding – and badgering – them into the more Light-sided exercises, cheerfully poking them all to use the Force – not in frivolous ways, but far more than any of them had at the Temple. Qui-Gon found himself rather astonished at how quickly it became the norm to practice in small ways so often, and he grew to appreciate the little joys in using his abilities.

In the privacy of his own mind, however, Qui-Gon appreciated the meditation the most. He struggled for weeks, learning to balance his envy of the others with a growing ease with old practices. It took over a month, but at last one afternoon he finally felt himself slip into a meditative trance. It was no struggle to remain there, though when he came out of the state he was relieved that the others had already left. Given the discreet exit, he supposed that Yoda had wanted to give him some privacy. As he wiped his face clear of tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed, he could only appreciate the gesture.

For the first time in years, he found himself able to meditate as he used to. Dark meditation was useful, but Light meditation strengthened the core. He’d missed this so; the ability to sink into the Force and be at peace. In a way it made him feel closer to Obi-Wan again.

* * *

“Hmhmmm, time, I think it is,” Yoda announced when Qui-Gon had finished his meditation for the day, about two months after their arrival at the Lars homestead.

“Time?” Qui-Gon asked, raising an eyebrow at his fellow Master.

Yoda’s ears lifted up, always a sign that the small Master was happy. “Upon the Dark side, I ask that you call.”

Bemused, Qui-Gon complied. The Dark was always powerful and violent, but over the months it had seemed to settle into a kind of eager patience. It had become a hungry predator that knew it would be fed, rather than a starving beast lashing out at anything that moved.

“Now, look here,” Yoda said, handing Qui-Gon a small hand-mirror he must have lifted from a ’fresher.

Qui-Gon almost didn’t take it. He knew what he looked like when he called so strongly upon the Dark side. However, Yoda was not in the habit of hurtful pranks. So Qui-Gon trusted, and took the little mirror.

For a second he couldn’t find his breath. Amber. His eyes were same clear, bright amber that Yoda’s always were when calling upon the Dark. Gone was the ugly, corrosive yellow with its sullen red border. “What –?” Even the dark bruises under his eyes were lessened – not gone, but lessened. “What is this?”

“A theory I have, that reflected in the eyes, one’s manner of calling upon the Dark is.” Qui-Gon looked at Yoda, bewildered. “At first, no more than a trifle, it seemed.  Different, I noticed that Venge’s eyes were from yours. Different, I later found, were mine from yours, as Anakin’s have become. Yet change over the weeks, yours did as well.”

Qui-Gon looked back at the mirror, staring again at the change in his eyes. “What does this mean?”

“More on anger you are calling, and less on hate. Purer, your connection to the Dark side is becoming. Finding balance, I believe you are. Masters of both sides of the Force, we are becoming.”

Relief shook Qui-Gon. He’d ignored it as best he could, but until that moment some small, fearful part of him had whispered that he wasn’t fit to be a Master to Anakin; that he’d never be anything except a half-finished Sith, too stubborn to embrace the Sith way, too lost to find his way back to the Light. Yet here, in his own eyes, was proof that there was another way. He sagged in relief, Yoda's hand on his bringing him echoes of his grand-master’s pride and happiness.

“Thank you,” he managed past the lump in his throat.

Yoda shook his head. “The path, _you_ have walked. Your location, I am merely pointing out, my brave friend.”

Qui-Gon smiled back at him, letting the Force move through him, joy and fierce pride mingling into a bright whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to [Flamethrower](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower) for letting us use Venge, for ever fabulous adventures in beta reading, and cheerleadering the whole damn way. 
> 
> Also many thanks to all you readers, for the enthusiasm, kudos, and comments -- they are all very much appreciated! We have a lot of stories planned (and some even written) for Balance, and we hope to see you there!


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